Passing Strange
by Pamena
Summary: Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett got it wrong the first time. But the Fates have stepped in and given them a second chance. A love story that spans over a century. R
1. Prologue

A/N-Hey guys! Here's another little fic I thought up. It literally wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I also want to thank everybody who reviewed my last story, I responded individually but I had to say one last, big THANK YOU because you all just made my day with your fabulous comments:) Now, this one may be a little harder to follow, and it might be a bit odd, but I'm hoping you'll give it a chance. Please let me know what you think!

Summary-Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett got it wrong the first time. But the Fates have stepped in and given them a second chance. A love story that spans over a century.

Disclaimer-I don't even own the DVD :( The Nearness of You belongs to Billie Holiday and the little quote at the beginning is from The Painted Veil. Beautiful movie, and it has Ed Norton. Go rent it.

* * *

Passing Strange

_Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people._

Time is an ever rotating wheel, it never stops, not for anyone. Except Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett. For them, time paused for over a century, waiting for them to catch up...

Weaving the web of fate is not an easy thing, it takes deep concentration and an all-seeing eye. The Wyrd Sisters were the only ones capable of such a daunting task. But sometimes, even the most skilled run into a snag, two stubborn people refusing to let fate take its natural course. And sometimes these people need to be dealt with in a most unusual and timely manner.

The second the thread of Sweeney Todd's life was cut, the sisters knew something had gone wrong somewhere. It happened occasionally, when they got a particularly intransigent case, though it was quite rare. As much of a headache as it was, the sisters only had one choice - to once again breathe life into the two people lying in their own blood and ashes on the floor of a bakehouse in London. After all, if they didn't, the whole course of the world would change forever.

It was times like these that the Wyrd Sisters really despised stubbornness.

_--_

_1846_

He opens his eyes to the face of his beloved wife, his Lucy. Her eyes are closed in the blissful peace of mind that death brings to those fortunate enough to attain it. The slit in her throat is gruesome, blood drying on her pale skin. It pains him to look at what he has done to her. He wants to take a razor to his own throat. It is then that Sweeney Todd remembers something very important. He has already died. The memory of faint footsteps behind him, and the quick flash of pain at his throat assures him of that.

Reaching up one hand, he feels at his throat for the gaping wound and slippery feeling of blood spilt that should have been there. Nothing. Not a scratch. No blood. Panic rising up in his chest, threatening to spill over as he wonders what form of hell he has been sent to.

And then he hears it.

Eleanor Lovett can vividly recall how it feels to be burned alive. The complete agony, when all she can think of is the _pain_, the way the flames had licked at her flesh until there was nothing left but ash. It isn't something she will soon forget. And so she has to wonder how she survived when she comes to consciousness in her own oven.

Breath coming in quick gasps, she glances hurriedly down at her hands. Perfect, unmarred flesh. She is alive, flesh and bone. The joy is overwhelming, but she still feels awfully warm. Then she realizes something. The oven is still on. Alarmed and well on her way to hyperventilating, she begins pounding on the door to the oven, screaming, hoping someone, anyone will hear her and let her out.

The oven door swings open and the very man who'd pushed her in stares back at her, gaping like he's seen a ghost. As they stare at one another in shock, she thinks that maybe he has.

_--_

_1899_

In the year of 1899, Al Capone is born, Aspirin is patented and Eleanor Lovett is in Cuba just as the Spanish rule is nearing its end. Havana is bustling with life as she makes her way through the crowded street market, shoving people aside when she has to. She finally manages to get away from the rabid crowds and onto a less populated street, hoping she isn't late.

Eleanor winces when she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window of a shop. She hates any reminder of her ever-youthful appearance. Surely some strange curse for all the evil she has done in her life. It is a curse disguised as a blessing, watching everyone around her drop like flies while she stays young and beautiful. Forever moving from place to place, forever alone. This is her punishment, living forever with the guilt of what she has done.

She is working now as a maid for the governor, a real brute of a man, but it's money and she's not going to complain. A lady needs some way to make a living these days. She can see the governor's mansion, on the hill overlooking the sea (she doesn't miss the irony of this), when she sees _him_.

He hasn't laid eyes on her since their bitter parting in London nearly fifty-three years ago, when they had both decided to get as far away from each other as possible. She hasn't aged a day since then, but neither has he. He has always known it was just a matter of time before they ran into each other again, and when he sees her, he inclines his head to the side with a polite smile that resembles more of a smirk.

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and then a mask of indifference falls into place and she breezes past him without another glance. It isn't until she is safely inside the governor's mansion that her racing heart begins to slow.

_--_

_1930_

She hasn't seen him since they were both passengers on that damn ship sinking back in 1912, and when he walks into the nightclub where she's working, her palms begin to sweat. She nearly drops her microphone in the middle of a number. Eleanor doesn't quite understand what she feels as she watches him take a seat near the back of the club with four other men, all of them smoking cigars and wearing snappy suits. It's not fear, because they had both learned a long time ago that dying is an impossibility.

"_It's not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me. Oh no, it's just the nearness of you. Isn't this sweet conversation that brings this sensation. Oh no, it's just the nearness of you." _

It certainly wasn't happiness. The man has tried to kill her before, and if he thought it possible, he would probably try again. They try to steer clear of each, but being the only constants in a world full of change, they come across each other every so often.

"_I need no soft lights to enchant me if you only grant me the right to hold you ever so tight and to feel in the night, the nearness of you..."_

Perhaps it was nostalgia. A longing for what they'd once had. Yes, she decides as she finishes up the last of her set. That must be what is. She hits the last note, smiling at the piano player and already looking forward to the gin waiting for her back stage. She feels much better now that she has put a name to the strange feeling, but the emotion is short-lived as she places her microphone on the piano and their eyes lock across the crowd and smoke.

She can't be sure, but she thinks she sees a genuine smile grace his features.

She thinks she smiles back.

_--_

_1945_

The war is over. It's on everyone's lips, splashed across the front of every newspaper, and on Nellie Lovett's mind as she stares out the window of the train car at the rolling hills and open meadows before her. Ever since the beginning of World War II, she's been working as a nurse, caring for the soldiers, nursing the ones who had a chance back to health, and keeping the ones who had no hope company for their remaining hours on earth. She would watch those men, sit by their bedsides and hold their hands, watch the light fade out of their eyes as they passed from this world and she would sigh with envy.

She has been through so many wars in her lifetime, she never wishes to see another. She has seen so much suffering, so much pain and heartache. It makes her hurt all over, and she decides it isn't fair that she's not allowed any respite from the trials of the world. There is no afterlife for her, just life.

Now that America is beginning to pick up the pieces of its country, Eleanor has taken off her nurses uniform, boarding a train, ready to return to where it all began. London.

He is sitting in a train station in London, still in uniform, hiding behind a newspaper proclaiming the end of the war. He disembarked the train over an hour ago, but unlike his fellow soldiers and comrades, he has no one to go home to. So until he decides what he's going to do next, Sweeney Todd does not plan on leaving his bench or putting down his paper.

A train whistle blows in the distance and he sighs as it disrupts his brooding thoughts. It pulls into the station, steam billowing out, passengers stepping out smiling. And then he sees her.

She steps off the train and looks around, taking everything in. This is no doubt the first time she's seen London since she left years ago. She looks just as lovely, if not more so, than she did then. Her hair is down, neatly curled around her face instead of on top of her head and wild. She is dressed in a knee length skirt and heels, a simple blouse, with a hat atop her head, tipped to one side and decorated with bits of netting and a brooch. Her gloved hands are clutching her only bag to her as she glances around the station.

As much as he hates her for lying to him all those years ago, a part of him misses her company. Sweeney Todd comes to a decision as he slowly lowers his newspaper, making his presence known.

Her eyes immediately fly to his in surprise. She doesn't bolt, like he expects her to, but merely stands there, her bag full of clothes hanging at her side as they stare each other down. What she does next surprises him. She slowly walks toward him, eyes the bench and him warily, and sits.

When he leaves, he has her address in his pocket. For the next thirty years, they write letters back and forth.

_--_

_1954_

Finland and Germany have just ended their state of war, and she is on assignment for the Chicago Tribune. There are people to interview, leads to chase down, but she's tired and in desperate need of a drink.

On the corner of a friendly street in a small town in Germany, Eleanor Lovett slides onto a bar stool and stares at her hands resting atop the bar until she feels a presence looming over her. The bartender. Without looking up she orders gin on the rocks, and briefly thinks of Toby. A deep voice, eerily familiar, tells her that they are out of gin. She looks up in disbelief and nearly falls out of her chair when she realizes she is looking at her would-be murderer and sometimes friend.

She enjoys the letters she gets from him, looks forward to receiving them. They are the only bright spot in her endless days, and though she doesn't know it, he looks forward to her letters for much the same reason.

He is grinning at her crookedly, already holding the glass of gin. He has obviously anticipated what her drink of choice would be and he slides it in front of her. Scowling at him for making her think she was not going to get gin, Nellie picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

They talk for an hour before parting ways. She hurries to get her interview, and he watches her walk out, ignoring the strange pang in his chest when she is gone.

_--_

_1969_

In 1969, while nearly half a million people gather in New York for Woodstock and the second wave of feminism is in full swing, the year man will walk on the moon, Eleanor Lovett is lying on her stomach in the middle of a field, making daisy chains in bell bottoms and a peasant top, bare feet in the air behind her.

All around her are people dressed just like her, smoking and drinking, loud music coming from the Volkswagen van parked a few feet away. The doors to the van are open, and several more people are inside, laughing to themselves and controlling the music. But Eleanor hardly notices any of these people, partly because she herself may have taken a few more hits than was necessary, but mostly because right next to her, looking distinctly out of place, is Sweeney Todd.

She's grinning at him openly, seeing the humor in Sweeney Todd, the demon barber, sitting in a field of daisies and listening to Jimi Hendrix with a bunch of hippies. It makes her giggle thinking about it, and he glances at her in befuddlement but says nothing. The pair has grown decidedly closer through the many letters they've written over the years, as well as the few and far between visits every decade or so. They have formed a strange sort of friendship, despite the years of resentment in their past.

The girl on her other side, Cindy, asks her how old she is, because they are running out of beer and one needs identification in order to buy alcohol nowadays. Is it Cindy? Or Sunflower? Well whoever she is, she is looking at Eleanor expectantly, toying with one of her blonde braids.

Before Sweeney can stop the inebriated Mrs. Lovett, she replies that she is one hundred twenty-three. Her friends laugh, and she doubts they will remember it when the buzz wears off, but Sweeney Todd stands up, lifts her and her half-finished daisy chain into his arms, and takes her away before she exposes them both.

_--_

_1976_

It seems they have come full circle when she once again owns a pie shop, and he begins shaving customers. Of course, this time, her pies are actually quite good, he is not spilling blood, and they are thousands of miles away from each other.

A radio in the background plays a song by some new punk band called the Ramones, while Eleanor kneads the dough for a cherry pie and occasionally steals a cherry from the bowl next to her to pop into her mouth. She has help, but she prefers making the pies on her own, because there are so many unpleasant memories that come along with a simple pie. It is not unusual for her to be in tears by the time she puts the pies in the oven, and she isn't particularly eager for anyone to see that. They would probably question her sanity, as she so often does.

She cannot help but think of all the times Toby stood by her side and helped in any way he could, those brown eyes looking up at her in complete devotion, the way the word 'mum' rolled off his tongue so easily. The thought pains her, and she wonders what became of him, not for the first or the last time. Her eyes fill up as she thinks again of the closest thing she has ever had to a child of her own, and she hates herself.

The door swings open, and she wipes hurriedly at her eyes with the corner of her apron, turning around to grace her teenage assistant with a smile.

His eyes take on a far away look every time he puts a razor to a man's face, and he often wonders why he returned to the profession that brings him so many painful memories. He thinks maybe it was inevitable. History, he decides, has a habit of repeating itself.

The urge to take a life has long since faded, but every time some unsuspecting man bares his neck to him, Sweeney Todd's mind is full of gruesome images. Throats slit open, blood spurting out, ragged last breaths, the sickening thud of another head hitting the floor of the bakehouse.

He cannot forget, and he wonders if he ever will.

_--_

_1986_

It's 1986 and Eleanor Lovett has big hair, tight pants and every Whitesnake album known to man. Even in the middle of September, Louisiana is hotter than the deepest circle of hell, and as she fans herself with a magazine while she lounges on the sofa in front of the television, she wonders if it is possible to sweat to death. _Not that I can, even if it is possible_, she thinks bitterly. She eyes the glass of water in front of her, sitting neatly on top of a coaster on the coffee table. She can tell by the rapidly evaporating condensation on the glass that the water is no longer ice cold, and she had only poured it five minutes ago.

Sighing dramatically, she listens as this new talk show host tells her that fingerless gloves are back in fashion. This thought cheers her a little, and she decides she'll have to bring her old lace gloves out from that trunk in the attic.

Sweeney walks in with their dinner, a pizza with everything on it, and she mindlessly sits up on the sofa to make room for him, never taking her eyes from the television. He is in town again, back from wherever he goes and doing whatever he does. She never asks him, and he never tells her. But for the time being, he is staying with her, and she secretly enjoys his company.

He grumbles about her choice in television programming as she takes a slice of pizza for herself, grinning at the amount of anchovies. When he bets her a hundred dollars that in ten years, no one will know "this Oprah woman's name", they shake hands on it, and she reaches for another piece of pizza.

_--_

_1999_

Y2K. It's the talk of the New Year's Eve party, and Eleanor Lovett is bored. People seem genuinely concerned, and there is even talk of lights going out at the stroke of midnight, but she isn't afraid. Really, there isn't much she fears anymore. Once death is no longer something to be afraid of, what else is there?

Sipping from her flute of champagne, she smooths her dress and moves out onto the balcony, away from the party. She decides she'll have a good laugh at all this crazy talk tomorrow, when all of this turns out to be some silly superstition. Nellie is not one for superstitious nonsense. She walks under ladders, used to own a black cat named Thirteen, and frequently opens an umbrella inside her home, mostly out of clumsiness rather than on purpose, but this is all the same to her.

She sighs, breathing in the night air and thinking, as she often does, of the past. She wonders what _he _is doing, and if he's thinking of her. As the countdown to the new Millennium begins, she raises her champagne in a silent toast, looking up at the stars.

Not as far away as Eleanor seems to think he is, Sweeney Todd sits in a bar, brooding as he does at the start of every new year. He has spent so much of his life being alone, in isolation. He comes to the conclusion that it is starting to get old, this loneliness thing. Part of him longs for companionship, someone to talk to, even if he doesn't have much to say.

Staring into his beer bottle, he thinks of _her_, and wonders what she's doing, if she is as lonely as he is. As the countdown begins, he looks up at the television positioned in the corner of the bar, and when the ball drops, he raises his glass in a silent toast.

_--_

Time is an ever rotating wheel, it never stops, not for anyone. Except Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett. For them, time no longer existed. Or maybe it did, but it no longer applied to them. Their wheel had stopped rotating a long time ago, and the only way to get it moving again was to fall in love - with each other, for this was the whim of the Fates. Trouble was, neither of them knew this.

* * *

A/N-Well I hope you got it, that until they fall in love, the way the Fates intended, they are never going to age. Hopefully that was clear enough. And just a teeny history lesson for those who don't know, The Fates, according to Norse and English legend, are three sisters, each one representing the past, present and future. According to tradition, they control our destinies. They have the ability to stop time, pause it, reverse it, etc. The next chapter will start in present day (2008), and I'm thinking it will be less angst and more on the light-hearted side:) I'm afraid this may be a really stupid idea, so it's up to you all to let me know.LOL


	2. Moving In

Passing Strange

_2008_

It's the middle of February when he shows up on her doorstep in New York City. He looks tired, the way he always does when he pays her one of his little visits, as few and far between as they tend to be. She peers around the door frame at him, eyeing the bag he's carrying and his slouched posture. He has been dying his hair to cover the silver streak he so prominently wore so many lifetimes ago. A mental war wages inside her as she tries to decide whether or not to let him in. It's like this every time. She's never sure if he can be trusted, but after a few seconds of staring at him, biting down on her bottom lip, she swings open her apartment door and ushers him inside.

He doesn't say anything, but then again, he never does. It is becoming apparent to her that they have established a sort of ritual: she debates about letting him inside, he comes in without saying a word, and usually falls onto whatever sort of makeshift bed she makes up for him and sleeps for hours. Without a word, she leads him down the hall, ignoring the way he is looking around, taking in everything from the expensive sofa to the top of the line kitchen and floor to ceiling windows making up one wall.

Opening the door at the end of the hall, next to the study crammed with books, Eleanor takes a look around, sizing the room up. When she started hunting for an apartment in Manhattan, she had kept in mind her unpredictable visits from the Demon Barber. A guest room seemed perfect, so she'd turned what was once a nursery into a room painted a dust blue color, with a comfortable bed, a bookshelf, fresh flowers and a few candles because at the time she had been into that whole aroma therapy thing.

Knowing he is standing behind her, looking at the room over her shoulder, she makes a dramatic vaudeville arm gesture, urging him into the room. He arches an eyebrow at her and steps inside ahead of her. She takes his bag from him and drops it at the foot of the bed.

"We'll unpack after you've slept, love," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him gently toward the bed with the pure white comforter.

Turning, she walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. Outside his door, she leans against the frame and closes her eyes, using two fingers to massage her temple. She can feel a headache coming on. Every few years, he finds her, wherever she happens to be living at the time, and shows up on her doorstep. He stays for a few days, and then he's gone, sometimes without even saying goodbye. She isn't sure her fragile heart can take this again. She gets used to having him around, just like old times, and then he disappears. And yet she keeps inviting him into her home.

She is beginning to think that therapy might be a good idea. The corners of her mouth quirk into a smile at this. Oh, the things she could tell. Her therapist would need a therapist.

Pushing away from the door of the guest room, she wanders down the hall, into the bathroom. There is a glass shower and a porcelain clawfoot bathtub, tiled floors. She had spared no expense when sprucing up the apartment, because she plans on being in Manhattan for a while. It was so huge, so bursting with life, that she knew she could stay for years without anyone thinking it odd that she never aged. Especially with plastic surgery being so popular. Just look at Joan Rivers.

Walking over to the sink, she spares a glance in the mirror, only barely over her mirror-phobia. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, loose auburn curls falling around her face. She makes a face at herself in the mirror. Jeans, a knit pullover, Uggs. Not exactly fancy, but what did she care? He probably wouldn't notice if she put on a potato sack.

Heaving a defeated sigh, she walks through the living room and into the kitchen, ignoring the loud infomercial blaring from the television about how Oxyclean will get the stains out of anything. Opening the fridge, she makes a mental list of what she'll need to stock up on. Her cabinets are a bit bare, she's been living on peanut butter and Mountain Dew for weeks. She practically lives at the hospital, taking extra shifts, working holidays. Why go home when there isn't anyone there?

Grabbing her purse off the counter, Eleanor jots a quick note for Sweeney on a Post-It and heads out the door, locking it behind her. When she steps out of the lobby and into the biting winter air, the wind is nearly knocked out of her. New York winters are unpleasant, she's already figured out. The next time she moves, it's going to be to Los Angeles.

She is just a block away from the nearest deli when she hears someone call her name from behind. Turning on her heel, she is face to face with her old boyfriend, the man she dated for a few months when she lived in Chicago, working for the Tribune - in the fifties. He's old now, wrinkled and bald. She notices however, that his eyes are still the same ice blue ones she'd fallen for so long ago. It was after this man that she had decided relationships were a bad idea. She had gotten attached, and when you live forever, getting attached isn't allowed. She refuses to acknowledge that a certain barber had anything to do with breaking things off with the sweet man in front of her now.

"Nellie?" He asks in disbelief, openly gaping at her.

She winces inwardly, but on the outside, her face is full of confusion. She has been through this before and she plays her part with finesse. "Um, no. I'm sorry. You must be mistakin' me for someone else, sir."

He nods, still looking unsure. "Yes, of course...but you look just like her...sound like her too."

She smiles placatingly, apologizes again, and starts off down the street, cursing her inability to become an actress. She's a natural, surely.

In the grocery store, she stares at the selection of potato chips, wondering if he was a spicy chip man or a sour cream guy. Instead of standing there like an idiot, she grabs them both. It turns into a problem after a while however; crunchy peanut butter or smooth? Ketchup or Barbeque sauce? Chicken or beef? When she's sure she has everything either of them could possibly want, she heads to the checkout, wincing when she sees how much everything is going to cost her.

Loaded down with bags, she stands on the curb and hails a cab. When she gets back to her apartment, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open, the place is quiet. Relieved that he must still be sleeping, Eleanor stumbles into the kitchen, arms aching from all the grocery bags, and deposits her things unceremoniously on the counter. She begins putting them away, starting to hum quietly to herself.

It isn't until she's tossing the empty paper bags into the trash that she realizes she's humming along to a song playing somewhere in the apartment. Frowning, she wanders into the living room and looks up into the loft. Sure enough, there he is, fiddling with her stereo. She climbs the stairs two at a time and walks past him to settle onto one of the large, cushioned chairs surrounding a weathered yellow coffee table. The stereo is in the corner, next to the minibar, which she sees he has already gotten into. There's a glass of gin on top of one of the speakers.

She waits for him to speak, tucking her legs beneath her and watching him peruse her CD collection. His index finger slides along the plastic cases, his head is tilted to the side as he reads album titles. She grins slightly at the picture he makes.

She jumps when he finds his voice. "Joni Mitchell?"

Eleanor smiles. "She's classic, dear."

"I suppose the Spice Girls are considered classic as well," he mutters, still not looking at her.

Fighting the urge to blush, she ducks her head. She frowns suddenly. "What the bloody 'ell are you listenin' to?"

Finally turning to face her, he gives her a look. "How should I know? It's your music collection."

Getting to her feet, she walks up behind him and picks up the CD case lying under his glass of gin. She laughs, holding it up for him to see. "The Wiggles. Came free with a 50 dollar purchase at the Disney store." He looks at her like she has two heads, but she ignores this. Her co-worker's little girl is obsessed with anything Disney Princess, and Eleanor has a tendency to dote on her. She has never even opened the Wiggles CD, but she has to admit the Hot Potato song is rather catchy. Flipping off the stereo, she hands him his glass and pushes him down the stairs.

They're in the middle of the dinner she made, sitting across from each other in the dining room, the large windows before them overlooking the Hudson River. Except for their exchange in the loft earlier, Sweeney hasn't said a word, and it unnerves her. He's never been chatty, but he's also never been this quiet.

Something is on his mind.

_--_

He is aware of her eyes on him, but he does his best to ignore her. He keeps his eyes on his plate mostly, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees her glancing up at him every few seconds, biting her lip in that way she always does when she has something to say but doesn't know how to say it. Finally, he puts down his fork and sighs.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Nellie?" He looks at her expectantly.

She has the good grace to blush, glancing down at her pasta and salad. But then she looks up at him again and she is the Nellie he's always known, bold and unafraid. "I was just wonderin' how long you planned on stayin'."

He had been afraid she would ask the million dollar question. In all honesty, he isn't sure how long he plans to stay, it's been weighing heavily on his mind throughout dinner. Sometimes it's tempting to just stay in one place, he gets so tired of traveling. But what else is there? Stay in one place for what? It isn't as if he has a family. But on the occasions when he stops running and stays with Eleanor for a few days, he always feels like he has come home. This fact only makes him want to run away again. "I haven't really decided yet," he answers quietly.

She nods in understanding, and he watches her bite down on her lip once more. He suppresses the urge to sigh again. "It's just...well, I was thinkin' maybe you could stay here for a while. You don't have to constantly move around anymore, the way you used to. 'Specially not here. You could find a job and live here, settled like." She peers at him hopefully, gripping her wine glass.

Sweeney begins to shake his head. he's so used to moving about, he's not sure he knows how to live any other way.

"Just think about." She cuts him off before he can speak, looking at him pleadingly. "Don't you get tired of always goin' from one place to the next? Don't you get lonely?" She looks into her wine glass. "I know I do, and I'm surrounded by people all the time."

Her needless chatter, while normally enough to give him a headache, is starting to make sense and he gives a noncommital shrug. It's enough for now, because she smiles brilliantly and looks back down at her plate.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before she looks up again and says, "We should probably find you a job."

He sighs.

_--_

As much as he is loathe to admit it, Sweeney has to acknowledge that over the years, Eleanor has become quite talented in the art of falsifying records. By the end of the first week, she has made him into a History major with a Masters degree and presented him with updated identification. He hasn't bothered with updating his information since the seventies, which had positively shocked his former partner-in-crime. With everything taken care of and his resume for a teaching position at NYU in the mail, she seems calmer, more content, and he knows he can't possibly back out of staying now, at least not for a few months.

During the day, until he hears back about the teaching job, he wanders about Eleanor's apartment aimlessly, picking through her things curiously while she's at work, masquerading as Dr. Lovett. The thought makes him smirk. He goes through her entire music collection, including the records she keeps along with a record player in her bedroom. She keeps her room tidy, he observes as he sits on the edge of her bed, listening to an Ella Fitzgerald record.

The walls are painted a dark green, but there are touches of white and pinks that give it a feminine touch so uniquely her. There is a comfortable looking cream colored chair in the corner draped casually with a blanket, and he is in the middle of debating whether to move to it so he doesn't rumple her bedding, when a stack of books on the night stand catches his eye. He can just hear her if she ever finds out he spends his days rifling through her personal items, that accent of hers unmistakably thicker when she is angry. He almost enjoys taunting her just to hear it.

A devilish glint in his eye, he decides to stay right where he is and take a look at dear Eleanor's bedtime reading material.

When she leaves the hospital, Nellie stops by the nearest Chinese place for takeout, knowing Sweeney will be expecting it. She finds him in the study when she comes home, draped over a leather sofa, an open book in his lap. She finds it amusing that his favorite room in the whole apartment is painted a deep red but she doesn't mention it. In their relationship since he moved in two weeks ago, they had established some unspoken rules : No leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor. Chinese Food every Friday night. Lucille Ball and 'I Love Lucy'? Off limits. And lastly, but of the utmost importance - No mention of anything that happened in the year of 1846 or before it.

So instead, she flips the light switch to alert him of her presence. "Chinese in the kitchen love."

He nods, glancing up from his book with a smile that instantly makes her uneasy. "I'll be in as soon as I finish this delightful tale of the sexual exploits of a widow and her gardener."

Her mouth drops open, and she grips the doorframe to steady herself. He has found her romance novels. Damn his snooping! Walking up to him, she snatches it from his grasp before he can utter any protest, and proceeds to whack him on the chest with the paperback. "Stay out of my room you bloody smart ass."

He laughs, a genuine laugh that catches her off guard. Afraid she'll ruin the moment by mentioning it, she merely flounces into the kitchen childishly, still clutching her book to her chest. She smiles to herself when she hears his footsteps following behind her. She thinks she's going to like having him around, life is already infinitely more interesting than it was two weeks ago.

_--_

_So many lives, so many destinies, all so intricately intertwined. The balance of all humanity hanging literally by a thread..._

Gazing at the complicated threads of humanity, Urd frowns thoughtfully. Everything, for the most part, is going the way it should in the universe. The good people of the world are doing exactly what they are supposed to. Except for two.

Todd and Lovett.

These two have been a pain in her side for over a century. But eventually they will succumb to the ways of Urd and her sisters, she is positive of this. You can try to fight fate, but it always triumphs.

Looking to her sisters, she says, "He is moving in with her, just like I said he would."

Skuld looks unimpressed. "You say a lot of things."

Her frown deepens. "This may be _it_."

"Nonsense," Skuld replies simply. "We've thought a million times before that it was going to be _it_. And it never is."

Verdandi sighs pathetically. "They could keep this up for centuries more, I imagine."

"Maybe so," Urd murmurs, already back to looking at the threads tying humans to their destinies, to their very existence. She has a feeling that it's different this time, but she isn't worried if it isn't. Todd and Lovett can fight it as long as they want, but fate always wins.

* * *

A/N-Okay, I know this chapter has a bit of a different feel than the first one, but hopefully you all are still digging it. I'm thinking the next chapter is going to be a bit more depressing though.lol Oh, I forgot to mention in my author's note of the last chapter that the Fates are also a part of Greek mythology. I'm using the names of the Norse Fates, but borrowing a few ideas from the Greek version - I just want to make sure I get all my facts straight, and let you all know what I'm doing, I don't want to confuse anyone;) You guys are so fabulous, thank you so much for your reviews and for giving my weird little story a chance.Haha Much love and have a great weekend!


	3. Blue Monday

Passing Strange

The sound of the alarm at five thirty on Monday morning is an unwelcome sound, and Eleanor groans in her sleep, reaching out one slim hand from under the covers her whole body is buried beneath to take a swipe at the offending object. She hears it hit the floor with a satisfying thud, and she burrows further into her nest of pillows and blankets with a contented sigh.

It only takes a couple seconds to register with her that it is Monday morning and she has work. Before she can even get ready for that, she has to wake up a certain former barber sleeping down the hall so he isn't late for his own job. Muttering under her breath moodily, Eleanor sits up and shoves the blankets off her body, swinging her legs to the floor. She stands to stumble her way down the hall, but ends up tripping over the alarm clock she had so carelessly knocked to the floor a minute ago.

The stream of profanities that leave her mouth as she kicks at the offending object would make a sailor gasp. When she has put it back on her nightstand, she yawns noisily and pads down the hall to the guest bedroom where Sweeney Todd is lying in bed, oblivious to the world.

"Rise and shine sleepy 'ead," she calls from his doorway in that chirpy sing-song voice he hates so much. She grins when the huddled figure under a layer of blankets emits an annoyed grunt and reaches out to swat at her, only to find nothing but air. "Get up, you great useless thing. You're goin' to be late. The subway station's murder at this hour."

She leaves him to slowly get out of bed and throw on some clothes, wandering into the kitchen in the sweats and NYU sweatshirt she had gone to bed in the night before. Putting on a pot of coffee, she thinks of Friday evening, when he had gotten the call saying the job was his. She had been so excited when Sweeney told her, but he'd only smirked unpleasantly, as if he'd known he was going to get it all along. She has learned in the past three and a half weeks that said smirk irritates her for reasons beyond her understanding.

He comes into the kitchen a few minutes later and she hands him a mug full of strong coffee and puts a plate of eggs and a bagel in front of him at the table. As usual, he murmurs a begrudging 'thank you' before she leaves the kitchen holding a bagel in her mouth to get ready for work.

They have established a pattern throughout their days. She pulls him out of bed, makes the coffee and breakfast, he pretends he isn't grateful for the roof over his head and food to eat, she leaves for work and comes home exhausted to find dinner waiting for her, unless it's a Friday, whereas she'll pick up takeout on her way home. And then the rest of the evening will pass in relative peace, where they either watch something on television together or go to their separate corners, depending on their moods. It isn't much, but it works for them, which is all Eleanor can ask for.

When she's thrown on a black skirt, a red blouse and some heels, she grabs her bag and the thermos full of coffee waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Nodding to Sweeney, she says, "See you later love", before breezing out the apartment door, down the elevator, through the lobby, and out into the crowded streets of New York.

She hates Mondays, hates having to get up and go into work. It isn't as if she needs to. She has managed to acquire quite a bit of money in her many years of living, and all of it is sitting prettily in a savings account in Jamaica. However, she finds that working like a normal person is the thing that keeps her in contact with people, keeps her sane.

It has taken a while, but she finally found the right job after 162 years of self-searching. She has already been a singer(she decided she hated fame), a librarian (she claimed she hated the quiet), a pie maker (too many bad memories), a maid (she despised picking up after complete strangers) and a writer (she hated the solitude). So finally, she has decided on the one thing she can handle - blood. She figures it must be some sort of redemption thing, saving lives to make up for all the ones she has helped take away. She shakes her head. It isn't as if she regrets helping Sweeney Todd take his revenge, but sometimes the memories are haunting. Cold, lifeless faces staring up at her wide-eyed with gaping neck wounds, waiting for her to chop them into pieces. It is enough to scar anyone.

At the hospital, she shrugs into her lab coat and works in the clinic through the afternoon, writing prescriptions for runny noses, rashes and relentless coughs. She is bitten by a three year old, and even cures a twenty year old college student of the hiccups and sends him off to the class he is no doubt trying to get out of. It's one in the afternoon when she leaves the lounge where she has been commiserating with the other doctors and nurses.

She changes into light blue scrubs, pulls her hair up and heads to room 103 to meet the fifty-six year old man she'll be operating on. It's a basic heart transplant and she's finished in about four hours. The prognosis looks excellent, and she walks to the ER in a good mood. She's finished for the day, and the emergency room is always in need of an extra pair of hands. It is always total chaos there, and a part of Nellie thrills at the rush she gets when she helps out.

She walks to that wing of the hospital just as three people in a car accident are brought in. She rushes to help as someone rolls in a little boy on a gurney. He looks to be about ten or so. There is so much blood that even Eleanor has a hard time taking it all in.

As they rush him down the hall, Nellie looks at the boy for the first time, and it takes every ounce of self control she has not to gasp. Thick brown hair (even if it is matted with blood), a pretty complexion, big brown eyes and a familiar expression of innocence. For a second, she thinks she is looking at Toby and she has to blink several times to convince herself that it isn't him. He looks up at her through half-closed lids, and she knows he is hardly aware of where he is or what has happened.

As she gives the boy her best reassuring smile, soft spoken words from long ago echo through her mind. _Nothing's gonna harm you darling, not while I'm around..._

The little boy has lost too much blood and he dies in the ER with no one he knows there to hold his hand. It takes two male doctors to pull her away from her attempts to revive him. She shoves them both away and turns from the bloody sight, unable to look at the boy who could have been Toby's twin. As she walks away, a bloodstained hand to her forehead and tears in her eyes, she hears a heartbreaking cry from behind her, and knows the mother has been told that her son is gone.

She can hardly believe what has happened as she sits behind the hospital, leaning against the concrete. She lost him. It doesn't seem possible. She is too stunned to do much thinking, too numb to feel anything except the cigarette between her fingers. So she stands there, smoking and looking up at the sky that seems too blue, until one of the doctors who'd been forced to pull her away from the operating table, comes to find her.

He leans against the brick wall with her, still in his scrubs. "Those things will kill you, Ellie," he says, referring to her cigarette. She doesn't tell him she's been smoking for a hundred years, just like she doesn't say how much she truly detests that nickname. Dr. Felder sighs when she doesn't say anything. "You did everything you could. Sometimes it just happens."

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she reverts her gaze from the sky and looks at him. "Why don't you go say that to 'is parents, Nathan. 'Sorry your son is dead, but these things 'appen.'" The words bring unexpected tears to her eyes, and she thinks of Toby's smile, wondering if the nameless child had a smile just like his to match their lookalike features. His parents will never see that smile again, just like she will never see Toby's. Tossing her cigarette to the ground, she puts it out with the tip of her shoe. "I'm sorry, Nate. I just-"

He holds up a hand. "I know. Losing a patient never gets easier."

She nods her thanks and turns, walking inside the hospital to change out of her scrubs, wash off the blood, and head home.

_--_

When Sweeney Todd walks through the door to Eleanor's apartment, their apartment now, he finds the place dark and Nellie lying on the sofa, still in her skirt, blouse and pantyhose. She's curled up in a ball, with her back facing him. Her red curls are pulled up in a style that is oddly reminiscent of the wild 'do she used to be so fond of.

He had expected to be bombarded with questions about his first day teaching, the second he walked through the door, he didn't expect this. "Eleanor?" He asks in a voice too soft for his liking.

She nearly jumps at the sound of his voice, sitting up to face him. He is surprised by what he sees. Smeared makeup, red rimmed eyes. It looks like she's been crying her eyes out. " 'M sorry, dear," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't know you were home." She gets to her feet and smiles, heading to the kitchen. "How was your first day?"

Sweeney follows her, brow furrowed in confusion, but not wanting to ask. He has learned that Eleanor can never keep things to herself for too long, and asking her only makes him sound concerned, instead of curious. He walks into the kitchen to see her rummaging around in the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients for a salad and roasted chicken.

"Fine," he answers her question vaguely.

She scoffs, but it's a half-hearted attempt at normality, even to his ears. "Just _fine_? Come on love, something interestin' must 'ave 'appened. Do you like it?"

He thinks of the student who brought a cheat sheet for the quiz the last professor had already scheduled for the day, or the one who had thrown up into his backpack, the remnants of a weekend hangover. He shakes his head. "Pretty boring, actually."

"Well that's a shame," she mumbles, slicing a tomato with such abandon that he holds his breath until she has placed the knife safely on the counter and she is no longer in danger of slicing a finger. "I was 'oping you'd get a class full of trouble makers." She turns to smile at him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

She pokes at the chicken in the pan with a fork experimentally, and he decides he is tired of waiting for her to tell him. There are only so many fake smiles and polite conversations he can handle. "What happened, Nellie?"

Her hand freezes mid-poke, fingers gripping the fork. "Nothin'."

"Eleanor."

She sighs, dropping her head. "I-" She stops, licks her lips and starts again in a softer voice. "I lost a patient today."

It's quiet in the kitchen as he contemplates this, unused to offering any sort of comfort. He finally settles for, "I'm sorry", and she nods slightly in acknowledgment, going back to poking the chicken. Sweeney knows deep down that a mumbled apology for something he didn't even do isn't what she needs but he can't bring himself to move from where he's standing to wrap his arms around her. He can't remember the last time he hugged someone. The memory of the way Lucy liked to be held when she was upset would not go away, however, so he decides on a middle ground.

He slowly walks up behind her and places a strong hand on her slim shoulder. She stiffens beneath his touch at first, but then she reaches up and places her own much smaller hand over his and squeezes. "Thank you," she whispers.

Sweeney helps her finish making dinner, and she doesn't say much, which is unusual but understandable given the circumstances. At any other time he would have been grateful for the silence. She picks at her chicken and pushes her salad around her plate before throwing all of it out. He leaves his half-finished dinner and follows her like a lost puppy into the living room, knowing that as much as she might want to be alone, she shouldn't be.

She curls up on one end of the sofa while he turns the television on, and they sit for a few minutes watching the TV Guide channel before he gets an idea. "Do you...want to watch your Monty Python?" He remembers that it always made her laugh in the past, and he'll do anything if it means she'll stop that moping.

Eleanor looks at him quizzically through bloodshot eyes. "You hate Monty Python."

"Yes," he says, looking uncomfortable. "But you don't."

She regards him silently for a moment before nodding. She owns every season of the Flying Circus, and he almost puts in the one about the dead parrot because it's her favorite, but then he thinks on what the whole sketch is about and decides against it. He can just see her bursting into tears when John Cleese exclaims, _"This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet it's maker!" _

He shudders.

No, definitely not a good idea. Instead, he decides on the Cheese shop sketch, which should be relatively safe.

He settles in next to her and she gives him a grateful smile. By the time they make it to the Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook sketch, she has moved from her corner of the couch to his, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he sits stiffly. Despite his discomfort, Sweeney is slightly relieved that she is at least feeling enough like herself to invade his personal space.

" 'E looked just like Toby," she says suddenly, and he doesn't think she has realized she's broken one of their cardinal rules - no mentioning of the year 1846. Sweeney wisely decides not to mention this, and stays silent, waiting for her to continue. "Thought e' was a ghost at first." She shifts slightly to look up at him. "I tried so bloody 'ard, and it wasn't enough...I couldn't 'elp him an' I couldn't 'elp Toby."

He frowns at this. "You helped Toby, Nellie. You gave him a place to stay."

"I abandoned Toby," she snaps back. " 'E needed more than a bloody place to sleep for a few months."

Surprised by her sudden outburst, he is silent for several moments, and only the sound of John Cleese telling the police officer he has beautiful thighs is audible. "Did you become a doctor purely out of guilt?" He asks bluntly, glancing down at her.

"Course not," she says. "The money is quite lovely."

He gives her a look and she sighs. They sit in silence for a while longer, watching the History of Silly Walks sketch, and usually by this point, Eleanor would be giggling her head off, but this time she is too lost in her own thoughts.

"I don't regret it, you know," she finally whispers. "I regret what I did, but I don't regret why I did it, if that makes any sense. I did what I did to 'elp you, to get your revenge. I would do it again in a second. But sometimes...sometimes I think it's why I'm still 'ere. I know it was wrong but I would do it again, so this is my punishment. Livin' forever with all those memories rollin' around in my 'ead."

Sweeney tears his eyes from the spot on the wall he's been staring at just in time to see her hurriedly wipe at her eyes. Crying is a sign of weakness for Eleanor Lovett and she has done enough crying to last her another lifetime today.

He can sympathize with her, almost. He doesn't regret killing the people who took him away from Lucy and Johanna, he thoroughly enjoyed watching the life drain from their unworthy carcasses. But the others, the ones he merely practiced on...

In all the time he has spent in this world, he has learned that men are not naturally good, no matter what people like to think. They are selfish creatures by nature. But sometimes people surprise him. Every now and then he comes across someone with no ulterior motive, someone with nothing but kindness in their heart. It's rare, and Sweeney doesn't generally associate with such people, but every time he meets one, it reminds him of something important. Not all men deserve to die.

With age, he thinks, comes wisdom, acceptance and understanding.

Sweeney Todd does not voice any of these thoughts, thinking it best to keep them locked inside his own head. He looks down at his companion again, and her eyes are dry, once again focused on the television screen. He sees a faint smile at something Eric Idle says. She is much stronger than she looks, his Nellie. He finds himself oddly proud of this fact.

_--_

_Fate goes ever as she shall..._

Urd looks on in morbid fascination as Skuld cuts the thread of another life. It has always rendered her breathless, the way the cutting of one thread can snuff out the life of one human. Their very existence ceases to be. All those memories and thoughts, all those dreams contained in a single being. All gone.

The beauty of it leaves her in awe.

It never gets old watching her sister cut a thread. It has always been this way, since the beginning of time. Verdandi spins the thread of life, she is life itself in a sense. Urd measures the thread of life, she is fate. She decides a man's destiny. And Skuld is necessity. She is the one to cut the thread of life when a person's time on earth is over - when they have fulfilled their purpose. For that is the way it is. _Every single person _on earth has a purpose, and when that purpose has been filled, their thread is snipped by a steady, capable hand.

It has always been this way, but sometimes Urd wishes she could cut a thread, just once. To have the power of extinguishing a life. Alas, this is not her job, so it is not to be. To console herself, Urd checks in on her mortals, two in particular. She finds it best to keep a very close eye on them. Things tend to go badly when they are left to their own devices.

Lovett is curled against Todd on the sofa, fast asleep, and a very uncomfortable looking Todd is trying to decide the best way to slip out from under her without waking the poor dear.

Urd smiles. Things are going beautifully. But she has doubts about how the two had gotten to their current predicament.

"Skuld?"

"Mmm?" Skuld turns to her sister, from where she stands over Verdandi's spinning thread.

"You didn't kill the boy just to bring them closer, did you?"

Skuld looks insulted, and Urd has the grace to be embarrassed for asking such a thing. "Don't be absurd. It was the boy's time to go. I just made sure Eleanor was there when it happened."

Urd nods, turning back to her mortals just in time to see Todd cover Lovett with a blanket, and then hesitate before leaving her sleeping on the sofa.

Yes, Urd looks on in satisfaction, things are going beautifully.

* * *

A/N-Firstly, thank you so much for your reviews, I love hearing what you all think. Secondly, I was totally going to have the sisters share an eyeball, but as I did some major researching, it turns out the Fates didn't do that - it was The Graeae, who also apparently shared one tooth. Go figure. Thirdly, please don't forget to click on the little purple button. And I would also like to take this opportunity to say that I don't own Monty Python and the quote in italics about fate is from the poem Beowulf. Happy chapter next, I promise!


	4. Baby Steps

Passing Strange 

Gossip.

For some, it is a profession. There are gossip columnists, writers for celebrity magazines, and people who are paid to report their comings and goings on national television. For others, it is a sport, something to do, something to talk about, bonding over the misfortunes of others. For those less fortunate, it is an endless source of pain and embarrassment, having your personal strife splashed across the front page or whispered about in front of the water cooler.

For Mount Sinai Hospital, it is a way of life.

The hospital hallways are always abuzz with some sort of chaos or excitement. Eleanor can still recall the time when a celebrity had been carted into the Psychiatric Ward last year and the place had been surrounded with paparazzi, or the time when one of their best doctors was fired for sexual harassment. There is always something or some_one_ to gossip about in the hospital. It was only a matter of time before the subject of their gossip became Eleanor herself.

After two surgeries and a coffee break in the lounge, Nellie changes out of her scrubs and back into her customary skirt and heels before sliding on her lab coat. She makes her way to the clinic to put in a few hours when one of the nurses falls into step beside her, smiling secretly as they walk together down the hallway, her blue eyes alight with mischief.

The look on her face is one Eleanor knows well. It means something has happened, someone has done something and it is all over the hospital. It instantly bothers her that she does not know what it is, she loathes being out of the loop.

"Well speak up love," Eleanor chides her, searching her lab coat pockets for her prescription pad. "That juicy bit of information isn't just goin' to teleport itself into my 'ead just because your thinkin' about it."

Carol laughs, grinning slyly. "Oh Ellie. I can't believe you didn't tell me." She shakes her head when Eleanor shoots her a confused glance. "I thought we were better friends than that. Living with a man and not telling me about it, honestly."

Having found her prescription pad, Eleanor is in the middle of looking for a pen and trying to watch where she is going, but at Carol's words, she halts in the corridor, her features frozen in place as she looks at her friend and co-worker. "Excuse me?"

Carol waves her off, pushing brown hair out of her face. Nellie has always envied Carol's perfectly sleek, straight locks. She can never manage to get her hair remotely close to looking that presentable, and she wonders briefly if it is just another part of being cursed. Living forever with one bad hair day after another. It's a disturbing thought but she shakes it off and focuses on what her friend is saying.

"I called your place last night," Carol explains. "To ask if you wanted to go out and have a few drinks. Tom went out with some of his guy friends and I was bored. But low and behold, some guy answers the phone!" Her eyebrows wriggle suggestively. "He sounded totally sexy. Is he hot? How long have you been living together?"

"Oh my god," Eleanor mutters, once again continuing her rapid pace down the hospital hallways.

Carol isn't quite finished yet, and she hurries to catch up with her friend. "Hey, come on! You can tell me! What does he look like? I'm picturing tall-dark-and-handsome. Am I close?"

Nellie brings a middle-aged woman into room 14 and shuts the door, with Carol right behind her, refusing to give up so easily. As Nellie examines her patient and listens to complaints about a headache that won't go away, Carol is bouncing on the balls of her feet behind her, and Eleanor is afraid she will spontaneously combust all over her new shoes if she doesn't talk soon.

Eleanor writes a prescription for a painkiller and sends the woman on her way, shutting the door behind her, leaving her alone in the room with Carol. She takes one look at those pleading blue eyes and caves. Carol has shared a lot of gossip, and she decides it's time to repay the favor.

She sighs. " 'E's just a friend who's staying with me for a while."

"Is he hot?" Carol asks immediately, repeating her earlier question.

Eleanor balks at this, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly as she mutters, " 'E's...reasonably good lookin'." She can practically feel her face turning deep scarlet and turns away slightly as her friend continues to interrogate her.

"Is he gay?"

She frowns. "No."

Carol nearly squeaks in delight. "Ellie! Why aren't you all over that?"

"Because I told you, e's a friend. We've known each other for years." _And he shoved me into a burning oven after I lied to him about his not-so-deceased wife, _she adds mentally.

Clucking her tongue, Carol crosses her arms over her chest, trying to look stern and unable to pull it off in bright pink scrubs. "Good friends make great lovers, Dr. Lovett."

Sure that her cheeks must match the deep red of her skirt, Eleanor opens the door to the room and motions a mother and her four year old son inside. While the young mother situates her son on the table, Eleanor discreetly shoves a still grinning Carol out of the room and shuts the door firmly behind her.

"Now," she smiles and looks to the little boy as he sniffles. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Achoo!" He sneezes in her direction without bothering to cover his mouth.

Eleanor wrinkles her nose in disgust.

—

Sweeney Todd has found in the last week that he enjoys teaching his students, likes passing his knowledge on to them and seeing that look on their faces when something finally clicks in their heads and they get it. That glorious moment of comprehension.

But mostly, he loves pop quizzes. The expressions of utter terror on the faces of the unprepared thrills him in a way he hasn't felt since slashing the throats of the good men of London. Sitting back in his seat, he watches sleepy students show up for their eight a.m. class, trudging to their seats with a complete and utter lack of enthusiasm.

As the last student drops down into his seat and immediately lets his head fall down to his desk, eyes closed, Sweeney stands up and drops a heavy book onto his desk with a loud thud that makes half the students jump in surprise.

He smirks and holds up a stack of papers. "Pop quiz today, children."

The looks of panic delight him, as they always do, and he watches as several students scramble for notes, trying to cram before the test begins. "For those of you who have done your assignments, this should be no problem at all. And if you haven't, I shall be delighted to use your paper to break in my new red ink pen."

Nervous chuckles.

He is about to turn to the chalkboard when a hand near the back raises. A student whose name he hasn't bothered to learn yet. _Jeanette? _"Yes?"

The girl clears her throat nervously. "I uh, I just wanted to ask if we'll be quizzed on chapter thirteen?"

"The assignment was to read chapters twelve through fifteen," Sweeney furrows his brow in thought. What is the girl's name? _Janet?_

"Well yeah," she looks slightly frightened of him, but he is used to this particular emotion by now and arches an eyebrow for her to continue. She plows ahead. "This girl I sit next to in chem lab took this class last year and she said the professor never tests anyone on it because it's an optional chapter."

"Why is it optional?" Sweeney Todd is openly curious now and he puts down his piece of chalk to give her his full attention. _Jenny! _Yes, that's her name.

"It's pretty gruesome, Professor," she says, shrugging. "About this crazy barber guy back in 1846."

Caught off guard, Sweeney stares at them all in silence for several seconds before managing to regain his air of indifference. "Ah yes," he sighs as casually as he can. "The story of the murderous barber and his partner-in-crime."

The class is abuzz with excited chatter now, everyone talking to the person next to them, in front of them or behind them about chapter thirteen, which apparently, is the only chapter each and every student has read.

Sweeney gets their attention by dropping his heavy book on the desk again, and they all turn to the front of the class to give him their attention. He picks up a copy of the test and glances over it. He has been given the test from the previous professor, the old man has left enough material and tests so that Sweeney didn't have to worry about making up his own curriculum for another week or so. As he scans the test's contents, he realizes there is nothing about chapter thirteen. He had not even been aware that chapter thirteen was a recount of his past sins. Making a mental note to take a history textbook back to the apartment with him to look it over, he glances up at his students.

"Nothing over chapter thirteen."

There is a collective groan from the general populace and Sweeney arches his brows in surprise. "You want to be tested on a murderer?"

"No," a freshman in the front row pipes up. "It's just pretty cool."

It had not occurred to Sweeney Todd that one day, a bunch of college students would be reading of his crimes and describing them as '_cool_'. He suppresses a shudder.

"It's got everything you could possibly want out of a good story," the girl next to the freshman continues. "Love, revenge, blood, crime, justice, food." She giggles at the last part.

"Psh," another boy a few rows back scoffs. "I heard it's just some stupid myth."

Kurtis Russell. The trouble maker.

An idea begins to form in the mind of Sweeney Todd, something that is never good for anyone besides himself.

"I can assure your Mr. Russell," he smiles cruelly. "The story is quite true." The smirk widens when he sees the boy swallow, his bravado taken down a notch.

"So you know the story?" Jenny asks, perking up.

"Very well," he answers shortly.

"Wait a minute," her eyes widen, and he cannot decide if it's in horror or surprise. "So there was actually a crazy barber guy and a crazy baker lady who baked his victims into pies?"

"Quite."

The room is full of chatter again, everyone talking at once, but he manages to catch a piece of conversation here and there as he settles down into his chair to observe them all from behind his desk. One conversation towards the front of the class catches his interest in particular.

"I heard he killed her."

"I heard they were hanged."

"Well _I_ heard they were lovers."

He decides there is no time like the present to break up their little conversation. "Those are all interesting theories, to be sure," he says loudly enough to gain their attention again. "But the one I find most fascinating is the story of how the two were so vile, so evil, that they maintained immortality from the devil himself."

He isn't sure why he's telling them all this, but the expressions on their faces is enough to make up for his uncertainty. He supposes that there is something about class discussion that brings out the talkative side in him, just two days ago he had gotten into a heated debate about the significance of the color red in The Sixth Sense with two students in the back row.

"Although, some believe that the immortality was a punishment from some higher power for their wrongdoings. Living forever with the knowledge of what they had done. Whoever gave it to them isn't the point. Supposedly, they still walk among us today, living and breathing, blending in. Still running from the ghosts of their past."

The room is blanketed in silence for a few blessed seconds as everyone takes in their older and wiser professor's story.

"Bullshit, man."

Kurtis Russell again.

Sweeney turns hawk-like eyes on the boy, who seems to shrink back in his seat at the eye contact. "Whatever theory you decide to believe, the story itself is based in fact."

"Which part?" Jenny asked, pen pressed to paper, taking notes.

"There _was _a murderous barber, and his accomplice _did _bake them into pies. That much is true." He let his dark eyes wander about the room, taking in the pale faces and wide eyes. "Think about that the next time you get a shave, or eat the pie in the cafeteria."

Stunned silence fills the room until they are all nearly drowning in it.

He smiles and picks up the papers again. "Now. Who's up for a pop quiz?"

_--_

Eleanor finds it slightly ironic that she can survive being shoved into ovens, live through numerous wars, live in disease-ridden countries and make it through the sixties alive, but a silly thing like a cold could drive her to bed for two days, utterly miserable and forcing the poor Professor Todd to fend for himself.

From her bedroom, buried under several blankets and with a cold rag on her head, Nellie ponders the cruelty of life. Unable to die, but still susceptible to the common cold. For the umpteenth time, she curses her job, and mothers who don't bother to teach their children to cover their mouths when they sneeze. That infernal child had sneezed on her three days ago, and she was still feeling the horrible affects of it.

Not only is she missing work, but Sweeney is actually going through the trouble of taking time off to tend to her, seeing that her cold was not getting better. He has spent the day keeping her locked up in her bedroom, dosing her every few hours with Tylenol and if Eleanor was not so busy trying to keep the contents of her stomach _inside _her stomach, she might have thought it a very sweet thing for a man like Sweeney Todd to do.

The last time he had come in, he'd left her with a stack of magazines and books, giving her something to occupy her. She is in the middle of a particularly tricky crossword puzzle when he comes in again, nearly an hour later. He doesn't say a word, just drops a bowl of crackers and a can of ginger ale into her lap.

She looks up at him gratefully, tucking her pencil behind her ear. "Thank you, love. You don't 'ave to do this, you know." He nods, watching her nibble on a cracker. " 'Ave you eaten? You must be starvin'. Do you want me to -"

She is in the process of getting out of bed to head to the kitchen and make him something when he takes her by the shoulders and forces her back into bed and beneath the covers. "Eleanor," he starts, sounding amused and irritated all at once. "I have taken care of myself for over a hundred years without your help. I did not suddenly forget how to put together a sandwich."

Blushing, she nods and opens her ginger ale. It is just as well, getting out of bed has made her a little dizzy. She sips from the ice cold can and nearly sighs at how nice it feels to her fevered body. She nearly jumps in surprise when she feels a cool hand on her forehead, and moves to swat it away when she realizes he is trying to gauge her temperature.

Once she is used to it, the contact is soothing, and she closes her eyes against his touch. How lovely his skin feels...All at once, his hand is gone, and her eyes fly open in alarm. What had she been thinking? Nellie looks up at him to see him looking down on her in concern, and is relieved that he seems oblivious to her brief weak moment.

_Not going there, Eleanor, dear. Not again. _

"I'm going to get you some more Tylenol," he says, snapping her out of her thoughts. His gaze lingers on her in blatant warning. "Don't get out of bed."

She nods in obedience, watching him leave the room before settling back in to look over her crossword puzzle. Four letter word for destiny...Taking her pencil out from behind her ear, Eleanor scrawls the word and smiles. A perfect fit.

_Fate_.

_--_

Urd, ever the observant one, is not quite so oblivious as one Sweeney Todd, and she cackles with delight when she sees Lovett's eyes flutter closed at the mere touch of his palm against her forehead. "She still harbors feelings for the lad," she says out loud to her sisters. "Just look at her, all flushed."

"I believe that's the fever, dear sister," Skuld remarks scathingly, utterly uninterested.

Verdandi looks at Urd in disapproval. "Honestly, have you no shame? Sending a cold to that poor dear - "

"Pish tosh," Urd tuts, still tickled with this turn of events. It had not occurred to her that Lovett might still have some feelings for the man who has tried to kill her in the past, but then, love does not die quite so easily. So much like the human spirit, true love is nearly unbreakable. Perhaps Lovett is not even aware of her own feelings. The thought makes Urd nearly giddy, and she begins to wonder how to go about making those feelings more obvious to the poor girl. "I have done much worse, Verdandi."

Her sisters cannot argue with the truth, and this quiets them both for the time being, leaving Urd plenty of time to think over her plans. Sometimes people just need a little push in the right direction. And then there are people like these two who need a good shove. Looking in on her mortals again, Urd claps her hands gleefully. There is much to be done...but what to do first?

Skuld, having seen that look in her sister's eyes before, says warningly, "Don't overdo it. They need baby steps."

Nodding in agreement, Urd smiles as an idea comes to mind. Small, nothing elaborate, but perhaps it is needed this time around. Grander things are on the horizon but first - baby steps.

* * *

A/N-Mount Sinai is an actual hospital, I did not make that up, just to be clear.LOL So yeah, this chapter is happier, see? I told you:) Okay, you are all amazing and your reviews make me happier than cookie dough ice cream. Which is serious, if you know my weakness for that delectable yumminess. Alright, I'm shutting up. Please review!


	5. Puppy Love

Passing Strange

The thing about colds, Sweeney Todd has discovered, is that they are terribly contagious, especially when you are always around someone who has one. Lying on the sofa and staring miserably at the television with a threadbare blanket covering his body, he is seriously beginning to regret taking care of Eleanor until she felt better. Now, she is prancing about the apartment, doting on him, and he is forced to lie here with a box of tissues, some crackers and a six pack of ginger ale.

_No good deed goes unpunished,_ he thinks morbidly.

Clutching the remote tightly in his hand, Sweeney settles on the Price is Right, watching contestants shriek in excitement if they win, or hug the old man if they don't. It isn't as endlessly entertaining as he had hoped it would be, but it keeps him from complete and utter boredom. Right now, he should be on his way to work, ready for another day of scaring the wits out of his students, but here he is, sniffling and coughing, listening to the sounds of Eleanor bustling around in the kitchen over the sound of cheesy game show music.

Eleanor wanders into the room moments later, dressed in her work clothes and carrying a tray laden with chicken soup, a cup of ice, a book of crossword puzzles, a pen and a couple of her own magazines. He sneers as he glimpses the titles, '_Cosmopolitan_', and '_Vanity Fair_'. Rubbish.

Setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of him, Eleanor presses a cool hand to his forehead and sighs. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I stay, dearie?" She asks, biting her bottom lip with uncertainty. "I don't 'ave to go in today, the hospital'll survive without me."

"I am not a child," he snaps, grumpier than usual now that he has reason to be. Eleanor had remarked to him the day before that she is now a firm believer that all men are babies when they are sick. He had glared at her from under his blanket, clutching his Kleenex box. "I can take of myself."

She shrugs and stands up from her perch on the arm of the sofa. "Alright then. There's food in the freezer for lunch, I'll be back in time to make dinner, so don't fret about that. Now, don't forget to take your medicine every couple of hours or you'll never get better." She fixes him with a stare that reminds him very much of a stern mother and then she smiles and points to the tray. "Readin' material so you don't get bored. Books in the study too, but stay away from my romance novels." Another frightening glare follows this statement.

He nods, sinking further into the couch.

Patting him on top of the head, she walks away, grabbing her purse and coat, calling as she heads out the door, "Call if you need anything!"

He waves her away and heaves a relieved sigh when she is gone. Suddenly, the only sound in the apartment is Bob Barker saying, "Come on down!"

Sweeney Todd groans miserably.

In the midst of bemoaning his terrible luck, his eyes fall on the tray. The soup is still steaming and smells rather appetizing. Trying to ignore the television and the hopeless morning programming, he manages to get down half the bowl before putting it back on the tray.

Next, he picks up the crossword puzzle book. He has always despised these things, but Eleanor is constantly scribbling in them in her spare time. As he flips through the book, he spies a few she has completed in her neat handwriting. He also spots a doodle of a dog or a cow or something she has sketched in the back of the book with a pencil. The drawing makes him smile against his will, and he grudgingly picks up the pen Eleanor left.

He gets through half a crossword puzzle before abandoning it, he doesn't have the patience his former landlady does to deal with such tedious puzzles. He settles back into the sofa with his blanket, accidentally leans his back against his tissue box and yelps in a rather unmanly way when the corner of the box pokes him in the back painfully.

Growling, he snatches up the box and tosses it onto the coffee table. It is then that he notices the magazines, glossy covers with gorgeous women on the front, advertising beautiful skin, sex tips and how to get a natural tan, all the while displaying new spring wardrobe must-haves. He nearly laughs out loud when he picks up a '_Cosmo_' and sees that Eleanor has taken a pen to the girl's pearly whites, making it look like she has lost one of her front teeth.

Glancing around, as if to make sure no one is going to witness him opening a woman's magazine, he flips it open when he is satisfied he's alone, leafing through the pages. He stops at a quiz near the middle and his eyebrows shoot up. It is a quiz to test whether or not you are good in bed, and he closes the magazine in disgust. How can she read such filth?

Seconds later however, the magazine is open again, to the quiz page, and he is curiously reading over the questions. It comes as a slight disappointment when he realizes Eleanor has yet to take this quiz because it would be something fun to flaunt at her later, but then he shakes his head and decides he would rather not know.

When he has finished the quiz, he looks rather satisfied with his results and puts the magazine down with a sigh of content. It takes a few minutes before it dawns on him that he is terribly bored yet again. Bob Barker has gone off the air, and in its place is some unfunny sitcom with a laugh track.

Shuddering, Sweeney Todd forces himself to stand up and find some other way to occupy his time. He is rarely left alone for so long now that he has a job as well, and he decides to take a closer look at things Eleanor doesn't like him to touch. Grabbing his trusty tissues and dragging his thin blanket along with him, he makes his way to her bedroom. It gives him a small thrill as he enters, knowing he isn't allowed in here.

He is strangely drawn to this room, more than any other room in the whole apartment, and he figures it must be because of how forbidden it is. Like a teenager who does something only because his parents tell him he can't do it. Eleanor will be furious if she finds out he has been in her room again, and he smiles as he pictures her cheeks turning that charming pink color they always do when she gets angry. She's so touchy about those romance novels of hers. Or maybe it was personal space. Something along those lines, though he hadn't been listening when she was ranting about it.

Wandering aimlessly about her bedroom, he trails his fingers over the bed, the dresser, the forbidden bookshelf, and finally comes to a stop at the door to her closet. It's the one thing he's never explored in here.

Sweeney grins maliciously, and suddenly the nausea has subsided, the stuffy feeling in his head has lifted, and his watery eyes are clear. He drops his box of tissues and reaches out slowly, grasping the doorknob. Opening the door tentatively, he peers inside. It seems normal enough, though a little bigger than he had imagined. Lots of clothes, lots of shoes, some handbags, and there was a shelf above his head, containing unmarked cardboard boxes.

He stands on his tiptoes, reaches out his arms and pulls down one very heavy box. Huffing, he drops it the floor and stares at it. It isn't anything extraordinary, just a brown box, a little battered looking. Reaching up again, he pulls the other box off the shelf and puts it beside the first one. His fingers are itching to open them, curiosity burning him up. He remembers that old saying suddenly, but shakes it off. Curiosity kills cats, and he is most certainly not a cat.

Kneeling down, he opens one of the boxes, part of him hoping it's something he can lord over his roommate. He is surprised when he looks inside the box to find envelopes. A lot of envelopes. All in neat little stacks and tied together with ribbon. He picks up a stack and looks at it, frowning. Tattered, worn, some even yellowed with age. A date, and Eleanor's address, wherever she happened to be living at the time, is written in neat, looping, scrawl across the white envelopes. His frown deepens when he recognizes it as his own handwriting.

And then it dawns on him.

His letters.

All those letters over a thirty year period, contained in two cardboard boxes. She kept them.

He knows he should not be so surprised, because Eleanor has always been the sentimental type, but he is. Granted, her own letters are in a storage unit in Cairo, along with all the other possessions he has acquired over the years. With his constantly moving around, it isn't practical to carry everything around with him wherever he goes. He finds that material possessions only weigh him down, it's much easier to pack up and leave if there is nothing to pack up.

Sliding his index finger beneath the flap of one envelope, he opens it and pulls out a letter written on plain white paper. The date is 1956. He doesn't want to read it, but he finds that his eyes are scanning the page of their own accord and he is helpless to stop them.

_Mrs. Lovett, _

_You'll be pleased to know that your last letter did in fact arrive in time for my birthday, as you'd hoped. I also received the package you sent, but I must confess that most of the cookies were devoured by my associate who would like to take this time to profess his undying love for your cooking. _

_As for your invitation to join you in the Caribbean, as appealing as the sea and fresh air sounds, the case I'm working on forbids me from leaving the country any time in the near future. However, if the invitation is still open in a few months, I may just take you up on it..._

Sweeney Todd's mind wanders as the letter goes on to inquire after her health and her activities since her last letter. This had been written when he was working as a lawyer in Minnesota and he remembers hating that particular job. It was a time in his life when Eleanor's letters had been more welcome than usual, a respite from his long days at the office, defending crooks and sometimes innocents, though that had been a rarity. It was also a time when he was still referring to her as Mrs. Lovett. He has long since filed that name away, preferring Eleanor most of the time, Mrs. Lovett only when he is very irritated with her, and Nellie when he is trying to be nice, which does not happen often.

He allows himself another half hour or so to sift through more of the letters, and he is surprised at how his letters progress from very formal and stiff, to a comfortable familiarity. Like they are old friends. He supposes they are, but old enemies seems like a more appropriate term. Old enemies who have grown tired of hating each other for things that happened too long ago.

Sighing, he puts the letters away, arranging them the way they had been before his intrusion, and puts them back on the shelf, shutting the closet door. He feels very drained all of a sudden, and he picks up his blanket and tissues to collapse on the sofa again, hoping that Law and Order is on.

_--_

Hours later, Sweeney Todd jerks awake at the sound of the apartment door slamming closed and footsteps on the tiled floor of the kitchen. At first he thinks maybe they are being robbed, but he dismisses this. Burglars aren't quite so noisy. The clicking of heels on the tile assures him that it is only Eleanor, back from work.

Sitting up on the couch as she walks into the room, motherly concern apparent on her face, he blinks sleepily, feeling worse than he did when he fell asleep hours ago. He gives a feeble cough and Eleanor perches on the edge of the sofa, hand immediately going to his forehead.

" 'Ow do you feel, love?" She asks, her voice soft, brow furrowed.

He shrugs, feeling too weak to open his mouth. She reaches out for the Tylenol on the coffee table and measures the correct amount in the provided plastic cup, putting it to his lips. He glares at her for trying to baby him, but it is pathetically ineffective in his current state. He merely takes the cup from her hand and downs the medicine, which he suspects is made with the intent of a terrible aftertaste.

"There now," she says soothingly. "You'll feel right better in no time." A sudden smile breaks across her face and it's the sort of smile that tells him she is up to something. "I 'ave a surprise for you."

He frowns, watching as she stands up and goes back into the kitchen. The sudden loss of a warm body next to him leaves him feeling chilly, and he reaches for his blanket. Eleanor reemerges from the kitchen holding some sort of bundle to her chest. He nearly groans when he realizes what it is.

She places it gently on his lap, grinning from ear to ear as she gushes, "Isn't 'e adorable?"

Looking down at the furry creature on his lap in distaste, Sweeney isn't sure what to say. It doesn't seem to know what to make of him either, as huge brown eyes meet his curiously. A puppy. It is the most pathetic looking thing he has ever seen with big droopy eyes, even droopier ears and a miserable expression on its face. It's white, with light brown markings on the body, tail and face.

" E's a Basset Hound," Eleanor offers. "Got 'im from a co-worker. She said she was going to take 'im to an animal shelter. Found 'im on 'er doorstep this morning, she did. No tags or anything." She reaches down to scratch the puppy behind his ears, and he looks up at her adoringly. "Of course, I couldn't let the poor dear go to some shelter when I could take 'im home." She glances at Sweeney, who is staring at her like she has finally lost it. "I mean, if you don't mind, that is."

Cringing as the dog bends his head to sniff his hand, Sweeney shakes his head. "No, Eleanor. You know I don't like dogs." Hate is a better word. He has never liked dogs, or any other animal for that matter, but Eleanor is a sucker for anything with fur, always trying not to blubber like a baby when those animal charity commercials air during her favorite shows.

"I know," she says, sitting down on the edge of the sofa again. "But look at the poor thing. 'Ow can you say no to that?"

"Easily," he cuts in.

"If I don't keep 'im, it'll be off to the shelter for 'im." She looks at him pleadingly, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Please? I promise you won't even know the dog is 'ere'. Please just give it a chance?"

He knows instantly that he is not going to win this one, he can tell by the puppy dog expression she gives him, biting down on her lip hopefully. Her eyes are nearly as big as the mutt's, and he has never been able to say no when she looks at him like that. Part of him protests that she knows this and is taking advantage of said knowledge.

Sweeney's mind suddenly goes back to the letters, to the way she was always sending him packages, inviting him to stay with her, giving him a bed to sleep in when he showed up unexpectedly, leaving just as abruptly. She has always taken care of him, even when her help is unwanted, and he doesn't want to give her a _dog_? He sighs. "I think this is a very bad idea, just for the record. Remember what happened the last time I thought something was a bad idea and you didn't listen to me?"

She makes a face at his mention of the fateful trip to American on the Titanic. "Oh, like I knew the bloody ship was going to hit an iceberg!"

He fights the urge to chuckle at her annoyance and looks down at the dog again. It has curled up in his lap, breathing deeply as it naps there like it has every right.

"So what do you think?" She asks quietly. "Can I keep 'im?"

He wants to protest some more, vehemently forbid her from keeping that slobbering bundle of fur, but she has been so fragile lately, since that little boy that looked like Toby, that he is afraid to say something to set her off. Instead, he sighs again and glares impressively at the dog in his lap before giving his nod of ascent. She squeals in delight and wraps him in a crushing hug before he can think to stop her, squashing the poor pup between them. The smell of her perfume assaults his nostrils, a very familiar scent he has grown accustomed to over his extended stay.

Eleanor whispers, "Thank you" into his chest, and all the problems he knows he's going to have with the dog are suddenly worth it just to see her look up at him with that huge grin. She hasn't smiled like that in weeks, he didn't realize how much he has missed it until now.

In the weeks to come, the dog, which Eleanor has dubbed Louie, makes himself at home. He becomes a permanent fixture in the apartment. He is there when Sweeney gets up, following Eleanor around as she makes breakfast in the kitchen, there waiting at the door when he comes home from work, and there at the foot of Eleanor's bed when he turns in for the night.

Louie adores Eleanor and tends to follow her everywhere, but Sweeney is quite certain the dog has it out for him. In the span of two weeks, the dog pees on his bedroom floor, chews a hole in a pair of his leather shoes and slobbers all over a stack of term papers from his classes he had brought back to the apartment to grade.

One morning in particular, Sweeney wakes up to feel some sort of wetness on his cheek. He is confused at first, thinking maybe the ceiling is leaking. It takes him a minute, but when he is fully awake, he opens his eyes to find himself staring into big brown puppy dog ones. A puppy dog that happens to be lying with his head on Sweeney's pillow, drooling happily.

Sweeney growls in anger, wiping furiously at his damp cheek in disgust. The dog looks up at him blankly, tilting his head to the side. Sweeney has noticed the very creepy way the dog always looks directly into his eyes, like he's challenging the professor. Sweeney wonders, if given the ultimatum, if Eleanor would kick out him or Louie. It frightens him that he doesn't know the answer.

"The only reason you're here," he hisses at the dog. "Is because she is a better friend to me than I have ever been to her. You're a _guilt-puppy_." He glares at the dog, and then falters, realizing Louie doesn't understand a word he's saying, and he is basically talking to himself.

More irritated than ever, he picks up the dog and holds him out at arms length, carrying him down the hall to Eleanor's bedroom. Her room is dark, the blinds drawn, but she is sitting up in bed with a book, a lamplight on the nightstand giving the room a faint glow.

She smiles at the sight of them, but which one of them she is happy to see, he'll never know. He deposits the dog on her bed, and Louie crawls into her lap, licking her arm.

"He was in my bed," he bites out tersely.

Fighting the urge to smile, Nellie says, "I'm sorry, love. 'E must of sneaked off without me noticin'."

Sweeney doesn't respond and peers at the book she's reading, thinking she is in the middle of another novel with a shirtless man on the cover. Pride and Prejudice. "Jane Austen?" He asks, it doesn't seem like the type of book she normally reads, but then, the former baker is full of surprises.

Glancing up from rubbing Louie's belly, she nods. "One of my favorites. But you know, you wouldn't know she had talent by just looking at 'er. Pretty face _and _talent, wholly unusual for that time in history."

Putting her words together, his brow furrows in confusion. "You knew Jane Austen?"

She nods again. " 'Ad tea with 'er. Flighty thing, she was. Not at all like that movie. Becoming Jane," she snorts lightly at this, her eyes wandering back to her book. "Becoming A Silly Nit is more like it."

He looks at her strangely, as he always does when he learns something about her he had not known before. He finds it a bit odd that he has known her for 162 years and still has things to learn about her. Clearing his throat, he begins to back out of the room. "Yes, well. I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait," she looks up at him again. "Are you hungry? I can get up and make breakfast." It is a Saturday, and neither one of them has to go into work today. On Saturdays, they usually like to sleep for as long as possible before making a huge breakfast. Lately, Louie has been getting most of the sausage, much to Sweeney's dismay. "I thought maybe we could do somethin' today, instead of just stayin' 'ere. Maybe go to the park or catch a movie."

She looks at him hopefully, red curls piled on top of her head messily, her pajamas still rumpled from sleep. He nods slowly, loitering in the doorway to her room. "Sure, why not?" He says it like couldn't care less, but he can't deny he enjoys her company, minus the mutt. He looks pointedly at the dog. "Is _he _staying here?"

Eleanor smiles. "If you want 'im to, love."

He nods.

She looks to the dog sympathetically. "Sorry ol' boy. You're stayin' home today." The dog whines slightly, nuzzling her leg like he understands what she's saying. Looking up at Sweeney, she asks, "Can we take a walk in the park? I want some popcorn from that weird vendor with the trucker hat." He nods again and she continues, "What are we doing then?"

He shrugs. "You mentioned a movie?"

Reaching over, she stretches out her arm and grabs the newspaper, next to a pack of cigarettes on her nightstand. "Paper says they're showing Whatever Happened To Baby Jane at that really old cinema down the block." She sighs wistfully. "Bette Davis. Such a lovely gal, very catty. Wonderful company."

He supposes that Eleanor personally knowing Bette Davis should have surprised him, but nothing she does can truly surprise him anymore, so Sweeney Todd merely rolls his eyes and walks over to snatch the New York Times from her hand. He scans the list of movies playing at different cinemas around Manhattan. "What about Rambo?" He asks hopefully.

Eleanor makes a face. "If we see Rambo, I'm bringing Louie to the park."

He grits his teeth. "Fine. Baby Jane it is, then."

She smiles triumphantly as he heads to his bedroom to get dressed before turning to pat Louie on the head.

_--_

_A simple twist of fate..._

When Skuld mentioned baby steps, Urd's mind had immediately gone to something that is always bringing people together. Animals. So, she had placed the pup on the doorstep of one of Lovett's co-workers, a co-worker who was not too fond of animals, and would want to get rid of it. Urd knew of Lovett's weakness for furry creatures, and so she had made sure that the co-worker mentioned the dog to her.

Urd's plan goes accordingly. Lovett brings the dog home, already attached to him, and Todd is too much of a fool for his future love's pouting face to say no. It is a brilliant plan, and Urd watches as the two grow closer because of it.

She can see inside Lovett's mind, and she sees admiration and a growing affection for Todd, who let her keep the dog and had taken him to the vet when the poor thing ate a bar of chocolate when she was not at home. It is almost like putting them in charge of a child, Urd muses as she observes them. Taking care of a dog is a lot of responsibility, and they are forced to interact with each other more often.

Todd, Urd sees, is struggling with the thin line between semi-friends and a genuine fondness for the first actual companion he has had in a very long time. He isn't one for affection but Urd is going to try her best to change that, little by little.

"How does it look?" Skuld asks, for once looking interested in the progress Urd is making. She had grown tired of the two mortals sixty years ago, sick of waiting for them to fall in love.

"It looks good," Urd responds, trying to sound nonchalant as she watches her mortals, but she can't keep the excitement out of her voice.

Skuld smirks. "So they like your stolen puppy?"

Verdandi takes this opportunity to scold her sister, her favorite pastime. "Honestly Urd, I still can't believe you did that. Imagine, that poor woman turning her back for a second, and one of her puppies disappears!"

"Pish tosh," Urd mutters distractedly. "She'll hardly miss it with eight puppies in that litter. I did her a favor, she couldn't possibly afford them all."

"You didn't have to steal it," Verdandi presses. "You could have used other means to get the dog to the woman, if a puppy was necessary. I still don't understand your logic in using a dog anyway."

"The puppy is a perfect baby step for them," Urd insists. "She loves that dog, and she knows he only deals with it her sake. The fact that he's doing this for her is undoubtedly going to form _some _sort of bond between them." She smiles knowingly. "And I'll work from there."

"I'll admit," Skuld sighs. "Letting him find the letters was a brilliant move on your part - reminding him that Lovett has always been the only constant in his life. Makes him less apt to want to run off anytime soon, if only out of obligation to _her_."

"Well I have to bide my time," Urd shrugs, secretly pleased at her sister's approval. She always tells them she knows what she's doing, but they are always doubtful until they see the end result.

As she watches Todd and Lovett stroll through the park, a very rare smile on Todd's face, Urd is determined to prove to her sisters once and for all, that everything she does is for the best.

* * *

A/N-Hey guys! Thanks so much for your reviews, it's so great getting those little alerts in my inbox.Haha Thank you for reading, let me know what you think!


	6. Urban Legends and Bright Ideas

Passing Strange

Sweeney Todd opens his bedroom door early Wednesday morning, still half-asleep and hoping to get into the bathroom before Eleanor hogs it for the remainder of the morning. He times his mornings perfectly around her tendency to take over the bathroom, so he doesn't have to get in there after her, when the room reeks of hair spray, perfume, and feminine soap products, and he ends up showering in lukewarm water. He is always late for class on these mornings. He finds that by getting up just a few minutes earlier, he can avoid this fiasco altogether.

However, this morning, as he leaves his room, he trips over Louie, who has been waiting outside his door for who knows how long. Sweeney has a distinct feeling that the dog looks forward to torturing him every day. He falls flat on his face with a loud, resounding _thud_, nose pressed against the hardwood floor. It occurs to him that he hasn't seen Eleanor sweep or mop since he moved in, neither of them has much time to clean, and he idly ponders how dirty the floor must be.

He turns his face to the side, his cheek pressed against the floor, to glare at his floppy-eared, newfound enemy. Louie, tongue lolling out of his mouth, looks down at him and barks before trotting over to Eleanor's bedroom door and pawing at it.

Eleanor emerges from her bedroom in an old t-shirt and gym shorts, yawning. She bends down and scratches Louie behind the ears, and he pants contentedly. She looks down at Sweeney in confusion. "What are you doin' on the floor, love?" She steps over him. "Best be getting ready, you'll be late for class."

Before he can say anything at all, she has gone into the bathroom and shut the door. Sweeney knows instinctively that today is going to be a bad day.

Grunting, he lifts himself from the floor and shuffles into the kitchen to find something for breakfast. They are in desperate need of groceries, he realizes as he stares into the bright inside of the fridge, which consists mostly of orange juice, energy drinks, and some fruit. The cabinets are just as bare, with a box of cereal Sweeney hates, half a Poptart and ramen noodles. Sighing, he goes back to the refrigerator and pulls out an apple.

Eleanor has been working extra shifts at the hospital, taking the place of another doctor who is out sick for the week, leaving little time for things like groceries, and it has been days since she made breakfast. He frowns when he thinks about the big bag of dog food she had bought yesterday. She has time for the dog but not him? He is sure there's some injustice in there somewhere.

He hears the shower start in the bathroom and resists the urge to groan out loud. He won't have time to do anything but get dressed and brush his teeth this morning. Heading back to his room, he steps over the mutt, ignoring the sound of Eleanor humming in the shower.

_--_

The lounge on the third floor of Mount Sinai is nearly always full of nurses or doctors taking a well needed and deserved respite from the constant demands of patients or even other doctors and nurses. The television is always on, the coffee maker is always full of freshly brewed coffee, and the table in the middle of the room is always occupied by gossiping employees, eating some leftover food from the fridge.

Having skipped breakfast that morning, Eleanor wanders into the lounge an hour before her lunch break. Opening the refrigerator, she scans the shelves in order to find something suitable. Her eyes light up when she finds a plastic tupperware container full of chocolate fudge. She grabs it and a bottled water before making her way over to the table, where Dr. Nathan Felder sits with Carol.

Over the sound of the television, she asks, "What are we talkin' about today? Or should I say _who _are we talkin' about?"

Carol laughs. "It just so happens that we aren't talking about anyone. We're talking about clocking in vacation time. Not that you would know anything about a vacation." Nellie sticks out her tongue childishly, and bursts out laughing when Carol blows a raspberry at her in return.

Nathan shakes his head. "That's mature, ladies."

"She started it," Carol frowns.

Rolling his eyes, Nathan says, "Well I don't care who - Ooh, is that fudge?" He gestures to the container Nellie is holding.

She grins and nods, offering it to him enticingly.

He waves it away halfheartedly. "I'm supposed to be on a diet. My wife's taken me off sweets."

Nellie shakes the tupperware under his nose. "I won't tell if you don't."

With a sly grin, he slowly reaches inside the box, looks around as if his wife is going to jump out from around the corner at any second, and then quickly stuffs a piece of chocolate fudge into his mouth.

"So easily corrupted, you are, Nate." Eleanor sighs. "Now what is this about vacation?"

Carol reaches for a piece of fudge as she explains. "Nathan was just saying how he's taking a week off next month to go to the Bahamas, and I was saying how much I hate him for it."

Chewing thoughtfully, Eleanor looks bemused. "Y'know, I can't remember the last time I took a vacation."

"I'm not surprised," Carol says around the rim of her coffee cup. "You're like, Miss Workaholic USA. I don't know how you can work with a hunk of man at home. _I'd_ want to be home all the time."

Eleanor frowns. "You don't know he's a hunk of man. He could very well be balding and have warts for all you know."

Carol snorts at this, and Nathan watches their exchange silently, sneaking another piece of forbidden fudge. "I heard his voice, he sounds studly. He doesn't sound like he's balding."

"You can hear if someone is balding?" Nathan asks, looking amused and intrigued all at once.

Eleanor elbows him playfully and turns back to Carol. "Besides, we're not dating, love. 'E's only staying with me, paying rent, as I've told you repeatedly."

"Me thinks thou protesteth too much," Carol recites dutifully.

Nathan puts a hand to his heart. "Well said."

Eleanor sighs, struggling not to laugh and fiddling with a fallen tendril of her red hair. "I really _do _need a vacation. If only to get away from you lot."

"That's a nice thought," Carol says. "Go with that thought. Go with it all the way to the beach. You need to put in your vacation time _now_, so you're not stuck taking over for someone else on the weeks you want out of here." Reaching out, she pats her friend's back. "And in all seriousness, you do need to get away." She eyes Eleanor's pale skin. "When was the last time you were out in the sun?"

Swatting her hand away, Nellie looks contemplative. "I dunno. I suppose a lit'le trip wouldn't 'urt. Sweeney would probably - "

"Sweeney?" Carol wriggles her eyebrows. "Is he _the guy_?"

Eleanor makes a face, and she suddenly realizes how much she, Carol and Nathan act like teenagers around each other. It can't possibly be normal, but at least it's healthy. Unlike her friendship with a certain murderous barber. Or rather, formerly murderous barber. They haven't spent much time together in the past week or so, with her taking extra shifts and him preparing for exam week at NYU. She sort of misses his company, even if he is about as companionable as a wet rag sometimes.

Speaking of which, he could probably use a vacation too. She doubts he will give in easily though, and a simple plan begins to form in her mind. Catching him off guard and cornering him in a public place seems appropriate. Eleanor smiles slowly. "Thanks for the suggestion, dears." She stands up suddenly, startling her friends. "I've got to run, I'll see you two later."

In just a few minutes, Eleanor has changed out of her scrubs, put her hair down and made her way across town in time for Sweeney Todd's afternoon class at New York University. She has never seen him in action before, and the thought of watching him teach his class amuses her too much to resist. She slips in the back, unnoticed, and takes up an empty desk in the back row. He doesn't seem to notice her, and she takes this rare opportunity to study him.

He's talking to the class about exam week which begins next Monday, students around her are taking notes, scribbling furiously in notepads with pens and pencils, hanging onto every word he says. He looks strangely comfortable here, she notices. Like he is in his element, surrounded by young students who drink in his every word.

During the class period, students ask questions, bring up valid points, and there is a general class discussion that enthralls her. She wouldn't have taken Mr. Todd as one to interact with these students on such a personal level, but he looks relaxed as he gets into a debate with two students in the front row about the urban legend of a man calling his wife from his crypt via telephone. Nellie still isn't quite sure how they began discussing such a topic, but as she looks around, none of the other students seem surprised, so she figures getting off topic must happen quite frequently.

"I'm telling you," the young man in the front row says, running a hand through his blonde hair. "The man called her from his crypt. She had a heart attack! It's got to be true, they made a Twilight Zone episode out of it!"

"The fear of being buried alive has been around for centuries," the girl next to him says. "It was one of his biggest phobias. So he had a phone installed in his crypt, just in case he died but wasn't really dead."

Sweeney paces in front of his chalkboard, hands behind his back, and Eleanor has a flashback to lying in bed every night on Fleet Street, the sound of his pacing lulling her to sleep. It's a habit he still has not broken.

"Yes, Jenny," he says, growing weary of the subject and wanting to get back on topic. "I've heard the story. He supposedly called his wife two years after his death, because it was her time to die and he'd called to tell her so. The woman's family apparently found her with a look of utter terror on her face, clutching the phone, dead of a heart attack."

"And when they went to entomb her with her husband," Jenny interrupts readily. "They found the phone in his crypt _off the hook_!"

"Correct," he nods to her.

Jenny grins. She had been the one to bring it up, Eleanor remembers. The girl had heard it from one of her sorority sisters at a late night study session and Professor Todd is the only trustworthy authority on the subject, according to his students. "So do you think it's true?" She looks hopeful.

He stops pacing to face the class, studying them all as they stare with bated breath, waiting for his answer. "I...don't know. It could be." He smiles an unpleasant smile. "I have learned in my life, children, that death is not always the final destination. Sometimes there is life after death, or even a whole other world. Perhaps there is more out there than we will ever know. Or perhaps it's just a ridiculous story told to gullible college students like yourselves."

Eleanor smiles as chuckles fill the room, and once again the class is back on track, and the lecture begins again.

Toward the end of the class, she is sitting with her legs crossed, elbows on the desk, and chin in her palms, just as enraptured as the rest of his students as he finishes up a lesson on the colonization of Africa. It's a topic that very few could make interesting, but he manages it with ease. She notices however, that while his students aren't afraid to speak up, or argue a point, they seem to hold him in the highest respect, and look at him with a reverence that she doubts they realize.

Eleanor's train of thought comes crashing to a halt as he drops the piece of chalk he'd been writing with, and asks if there are any questions. Class has come to an end and he still has taken no notice of her, hiding behind some students in the very back, being as quiet as a mouse. Before she knows what she's doing, she raises her hand when no one else does. "I 'ave a question."

She finds several pairs of eyes on her all at once as the students turn to face her, this strange woman none of them have ever seen before, and for some reason, had not noticed until now. Professor Todd's gaze immediately goes to the back of the class when he hears her familiar voice. He spots her, and takes a step back in surprise. The look on his face is enough to make up for the fact that she has no idea what to ask. "Y-yes?" He asks, clearly rattled because she's never heard him stutter before. Ever.

She manages a slight smile and a shrug. "Can I...take you to lunch, Professor?"

A chorus of '_ooh's_' ring across the crowded classroom, and if she didn't know better, Nellie would say she saw the Demon Barber blush. He recovers quickly however, and the glare he sends her way would make a lesser woman shake in her high heels. Eleanor merely smiles knowingly, and the class is dismissed.

Students gather bookbags, textbooks and laptops, everyone shuffling their way through the door, talking all at once, except for a select few who stay behind to have a word with Professor Todd. Nellie stays in her seat to observe, and notices immediately that the majority of the students who stay behind are female, and smile way too much.

Bristling slightly when one of the girls leans into him and giggles as she asks a pointless question about the upcoming exam, Eleanor shakes off the feeling. Old emotions, she decides. Old emotions that still linger but have absolutely nothing to do with how she feels now. She nods imperceptibly to herself and straightens in her seat.

The gaggle of young women walk out in a few minutes, leaving only a student that Sweeney calls Mr. Russell.

When Sweeney has answered the boy's question about what chapters to study for Monday's exam, he leans in toward his professor and glances at Eleanor, where she watches from the back. He tries to keep his voice down, but his words echo through the empty room. "Is that your girlfriend you never talk about?" He asks conspiratorially. "I'm just asking, because, you know..."

The boy waits for his professor to understand, but Sweeney only stares at him blankly, opens his mouth once, then closes it. Eleanor is reminded vaguely of a fish.

Mr. Russell decides to help him out and elbows him, grinning. "Cause she's hot, dude." Nellie muffles a snort into her hand, looking away and then back again, just in time to see Sweeney Todd glaring at the boy with an intensity that leaves him stumbling backward. "Uh, sir. Sorry. Sorry, sir. I, uh..." He holds up his textbook. "I'ma go study now." He nods once to Eleanor and moves backward without looking where he is going, trips over a desk, and hurriedly turns to scurry from the classroom.

Eleanor finally removes her hand from her mouth, laughing so hard that tears are pricking the corners of her eyes. He turns his glare on her but she isn't as affected as Mr. Russell. It only makes her laugh harder, and her sides begin to hurt.

Sweeney puts his palms flat on his desk and looks at her, head tilted to one side. "Well I'm pleased that you think this is amusing, Eleanor."

Straightening, she manages to subdue her laughter and wipe the tears from her cheeks, gasping for breath. "What's the matter, love? Somethin's got your knickers in a bunch today."

He shakes his head and she can tell that as irritated with her as he is, he is fighting a chuckle of his own. "Do you know what the entire campus is going to be talking about by the time I come in to work tomorrow?"

"Your charmin' female companion?" She offers, still preoccupied with wiping away tears of laughter, hoping she hasn't smudged her eyeliner.

"No," he sneers. "They'll be talking about the crazy woman who hit on Professor Todd in the middle of his class." He straightens, sighing. "They're not going to respect me if I have strange women coming in all the time to ask me to lunch."

"Women?" She asks, arching an eyebrow. "Who else 'as been takin' you to lunch?"

"It's a figure of speech," he looks exasperated. "And they'll be talking about this for days. I just got them to stop talking about the whole Demon Barber story I fed them."

"Well that was your own fault, dearie," she says, standing and picking up her purse. She walks to him where he stands by his desk, looking up to look him straight in the eye. This close, she can smell his cologne and the scent of chalk that lingers long after he has left the classroom. "An' I wasn't hittin' on you, or tryin' to embarrass you, as funny as it turned out to be. I really did come here to take you to lunch. Got a preposition for you."

He looks at her with raised eyebrows and she smacks his chest with her handbag.

"Not like that you bloody pervert," she snaps. "Stop readin' my _Cosmo, _gives you a dirty mind, it does."

"On the contrary my dear," he says with a sigh, turning his back to her to straighten his desk. "Your magazines only feed the flame."

He says this without a hint of his earlier irritation, and Eleanor is glad to know their lunch will not be spoiled by his petulance. When he stops fussing with his desk and his papers, she takes him by the arm and leads him out of the class, through the halls and into the cafeteria. She figures there isn't much point in dragging him off campus, it will only irritate him further, and she needs him to have an open mind for the time being.

They pay for their food and carry their trays to the very back of the cafeteria filled with other students and teachers, taking shelter in the vacant corner table. It isn't until she has opened her Red Bull and taken a bite of her macaroni that Sweeney Todd finally speaks.

"To what do I owe this unexpected and altogether unpleasant surprise, Eleanor?" He asks, eyeing her and pushing away his untouched tray of food.

Swallowing, she sips her energy drink again to bide her time. "Well...I was talkin' to a few people at the hospital, about vacation time. Nate's goin' to the Bahamas, and several of the nurses 'ave been talkin' about Florida, and then I started thinkin'..."

"Wonderful," he mutters, staring blandly into his Jello cup.

She frowns at his lack of enthusiasm. "Oh c'mon, love. Don't you think it'd be fun to get away for a while? Just a few days, at least?"

He watches her spear the tomato in her salad with her fork. "If I recall, _you _are the one that pushed me to get a steady job and settle down in one spot. And now you want me to pack up and leave again?"

Eleanor sighs. "It's not like I want you to bloody relocate somewhere. It's a vacation, people take 'em all the time." She looks at him pleadingly. "Please? Don't you think it would be fun?"

Driving for hours in a car with Eleanor to some horribly sunny vacation spot is not Sweeney's idea of a good time, and he grasps for some plausible reason why he can't possibly go. "I have classes, I cannot just - "

She holds up a hand, silencing him. "Spring break starts next week, you won't 'ave class. And I 'ave so many vacation days saved up, I could leave for several weeks."

Knowing the red-head has defeated him once again, Sweeney sighs sorrowfully, looking glum. He picks up his milk carton and takes a swig, wishing for it to be some sort of strong alcohol.

Sensing his reluctance, Eleanor sits back in her seat and twirls a lock of hair nervously. "Y'know, if you don't want to go anywhere with me, all you 'ave to do is say so, love. I'll go by myself or maybe just stay 'ere. It's not a big deal." Of course, it _is _a big deal, to her anyway, and she wants him to go somewhere with her, but she isn't about to let him know such a thing. After all, she has her dignity. So instead, she tries not to look put out and pushes a few lettuce leaves around in her plate.

Sweeney rolls his eyes. She's trying not to pout but doing a horrible job of it. The last thing he wants is to spend the next few weeks in their apartment with her sulking after looking at Nathan's vacation pictures. He has found that she is impossible to live with when she pouts like this, not on purpose mind you, but she tends to mope without realizing she is moping.

Inwardly seething that the woman is getting her way again, Professor Todd grips his carton of milk in his fist and looks heavenward. "Just a few days, Eleanor. And somewhere close-by."

Surprised, Eleanor looks up at him and beams. "Really?"

He nods grudgingly, hating himself. Spotting Kurtis Russell across the cafeteria, he glowers at the boy, needing to take out his frustration on someone. Kurtis pales, looking petrified and quickly glances away, putting down his chicken nugget like he has suddenly lost his appetite.

"Oh love," Eleanor squeals suddenly, snapping him back to attention. "I know you don't want to go, but I promise we'll 'ave a good time, or I'll never drag you anywhere again. Cross my 'eart." She is still grinning at him, that ridiculously happy smile she wore for days after Louie officially moved in.

Sweeney sighs and begins picking at the strange and unidentifiable meat on his plate. He's in the middle of deciding whether or not to risk taking a bite when Eleanor says something that tops off his terrible day.

"I was thinkin' maybe we could take Louie." He merely looks at her, and she takes the hint. "Right then. I'll 'ave Carol keep an eye on 'im for a couple of days."

She's still smiling though, an excited blush flushing her cheeks an attractive pink shade. He thinks that perhaps, without Louie and out of the city, he might have a decent time with Eleanor. But he most certainly will never say such a thing out loud.

His earlier prediction seems to have come true. First, he trips over the mutt, second, he is late for work, then Eleanor manages to catch him off guard for the first time in his very long life by showing up out of the blue to watch him teach, and now she is going to drag him off to some terribly sunny place with piers and ice cream.

Sweeney Todd sighs. He had known it was going to be a bad day.

_--_

_Fate leads the willing, and drags along the unwilling._

Things have never looked quite so promising for the Wyrd sisters, concerning the troublesome mortals, or rather, immortals, depending on which way they look at it.

Urd smiles knowingly as she watches the two finish their lunch together on relatively friendly terms, and in the middle of dessert, a couple of students from Todd's afternoon class join them at their table. Lovett is smiling, talking to a senior and a junior, gesturing animatedly with her hands, and Todd is watching with amused interest, looking torn between fondness and irritation. Urd has noticed he wears this expression frequently around Lovett, and it makes her insides flutter with hope.

"So...how does it look?" Skuld asks again, for what must have been the seventh time in the past two hours.

Urd sighs, but she isn't as irritated as the last time, mostly because she now has something of interest to report. "They're going away together next week."

Skuld looks impressed. "You mean it worked? All that vacation talk in the lounge?"

"I told you it would, oh ye of little faith," Urd sniffs, turning back to watch them, unable to take her eyes away from the two for long. Things are progressing so wonderfully, she's elated at how well things are going since Todd moved in. In the past month and a half, they have progressed more than in the last hundred years combined.

"Where are they going?" Skuld asks, moving to Verdandi, watching over her shoulder as she spins the thread of life, the very existence of mortals rests entirely in her capable hands.

Urd purses her lips. "They do not know it yet, but they are going to Atlantic City. Just a few hours away, so there is alone time without being far enough away to annoy Todd. We can't have him angry with her."

"Hmm.." Skuld sounds distracted suddenly, peering intently at the threads, human lives intricately bound together.

Urd smiles dreamily, ignoring her sister's sudden disinterest. "Time alone, time away from all those distractions. It is just what those two need. Perhaps this will be _it_. Or at the very least, speed things along rather nicely."

Verdandi looks doubtful, biting down on her lip and Skuld ignores them both, gazing into humanity as if in some sort of trance. "Atlantic City is hardly 'away from distractions', dear sister. Do you really think they'll grow closer with all those slot machines? The gambling? The stores?" She shakes her head, looking piteous. "Such a sinful city. Almost as bad as Las Vegas."

"Nonsense," Urd steeples her fingers, looking rather devious. "They'll have a marvelous time." As Skuld picks up the scissors, preparing to cut away another life with the shining silver, Urd is too preoccupied with her mortals to notice. For once, she does not watch as another life is taken, her head filled with wonderful possibilities for the coming week.

* * *

A/N-I'm so loving you all right now. You're all so fantabulous, and so are your reviews. Thanks so much for letting me know you're enjoying this, it's great reading what you have to say! The quote at the beginning of the Fates sequence is by Lucius Annaeus Seneca. Okay, so that urban legend in Sweeney's class? Totally a real urban legend! How freaky is that? It's amazing the stuff you find when you're bored and on the computer.Haha Let me know what you think!


	7. Love Without Wings

Passing Strange

The days leading up to their trip to New Jersey go by too quickly for Sweeney Todd. As he goes about his evening after work, packing the last of his things and avoiding the dog, he still doesn't entirely understand why Eleanor picked Atlantic City. She had told him it was the closest city she could have fun in, therefore meeting both of their criteria, but still...Atlantic City? What could she possibly do there, except gamble and go to a strip club? The image of her stuffing a twenty in a man's underwear is enough to make him feel nauseous and he decides to stop thinking about her reasons for going.

He is in the middle of deciding whether he will need an umbrella when he hears, "Would you 'urry up in there! I told you to pack last night!"

Sighing, he drops the umbrella on his bed and zips up his bag, tossing it over his shoulder. Eleanor has been on pins and needles ever since she returned from the hospital, bustling about the apartment with an excited smile, and he does not want to spend two and a half hours in the car with her being in such a good mood. It never bodes well with him when she's so happy, it means she'll talk. A lot.

Eleanor is waiting by the door with four bags and Louie at her feet. She grins at him and tightens her grip on the dog's leash. "Ready?"

Sweeney stares. "We're only leaving for three days, right?"

She nods, looking confused. "Of course, dear. That's what I promised."

"Then what the hell do you need all those bags for, woman?" He growls, knowing he'll end up carting them to the car, and then out of the car and to their suite at the hotel. And then once the trip is over, back to the car and then back to the apartment. He's exhausted just thinking about it.

Frowning, she glances down at her luggage. "What? I need all this." She begins to attempt picking them all up while still holding Louie's leash.

He contemplates telling her she needs those bags like she needs a hole in the head, but as she continues to try balancing her bags and lead the dog at the same time, he stays silent. Instead, he yanks three of her suitcases from her, leaving her with an over-the-shoulder bag and Louie.

Eleanor shoots him a grateful look and opens the door, leading him out into the elevator, down into the lobby, and to the parking garage, where the car they had rented sits. Eleanor tosses her bag into the trunk and when Louie refuses to climb into the backseat of the sleek sports car without her help, she lifts the fat little basset hound into the back seat.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Eleanor wipes her hands on her jeans and looks at Sweeney. "You drivin' or am I?"

Thinking that having her drag him to Atlantic City is punishment enough, he snatches the keys from her outstretched palm. "I'll drive." Without waiting for a response, he drops down into the driver's seat and turns on the car, leaving Eleanor to huff and open the door to the passenger seat.

"Don't forget," she says, pulling on her seatbelt. "We 'ave to drop Louie off at Carol's."

Sweeney eyes the dog, sitting gloomily in the backseat, through the rearview mirror. "Oh, I won't forget," he mutters darkly, putting the car in reverse. It rides like a dream, and he's suddenly grateful for his insistence on a fast car. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Eleanor drove back from the rental company with this little silver number, but he'd quickly wiped that look off his face when he saw her smug smile. As he pulls out onto the busy streets, he balks at the unbelievable traffic.

Eleanor, used to driving in a constant traffic jam, merely lowers her sunglasses from the top of her head to shade her eyes. The day is entirely too sunny for his liking, and he misses Seattle, the last place he'd been in before dropping in on Eleanor for what would unknowingly be an extended stay. He wonders if he would have gone through the trouble of finding her if he'd known she would rope him into staying. It bothers him that he thinks he probably would have come anyway.

It takes thirty minutes to get to Carol's apartment, and when he pulls up in the fifteen minute parking along the sidewalk, Eleanor gets out of the car and looks at him expectantly. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

"You're only dropping off the mutt," he says. "Why should I?"

She walks around to the back of car, and he pops the trunk. After a few minutes of rustling around, she comes back to the passenger side and drops two dog bowls, a stuffed bear and a bag of dog food in the seat. "I need you to carry that. Can't very well get Louie and all _that_, can I?"

Grumbling the whole way, he carries Louie's amenities up to the fourth floor, where Eleanor stops at the end of the hall and knocks on 4G. The door opens almost immediately, and a preppy looking blonde girl stands there in cutoffs and a t-shirt that says, 'Who needs brains when you have these?'

"Ellie!" She smiles and leans in, hugging her friend.

"Ellie?" He sneers under his breath, and Eleanor elbows him, never dropping her friendly smile as she gives him a look. He knows that look. It means he should shut up. He rolls his eyes, hating that he knows what she is thinking without her even having to open her mouth.

At their nearly silent exchange, Carol finally looks at him, and when she does, her mouth drops open. He begins to feel uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, like she's undressing him with her eyes. She stands there in the doorway, gaping at him until Eleanor clears her throat loudly, snapping her friend from her trance.

"Oh, sorry," she shakes her head and looks at Eleanor, glances back at Sweeney, then looks at the dog. "Hey there, little guy!" She bends down to scratch the top of his head, but he only gazes back at her forlornly.

"Thanks so much for doin' this, love," Eleanor says, taking Louie's things from Sweeney's arms and dumping them into Carol's. "This is everything 'e needs - 'is stuffed bear 'e sleeps with, dog bowls, and this is the only type of food 'e'll eat. Oh, and if you want to give 'im a popsicle every now and then, that's fine. But 'e doesn't like green beans, or actually any type of beans. Or vegetables. And e's afraid of clowns so - "

"Eleanor," Sweeney interrupts, arching an eyebrow.

She glances at him, sees from the look on his face that she is rambling, and cuts the instructions speech short. "Right. Sorry." Bending down, she takes Louie's face in her hands, looking into sad brown eyes. "I'll be back soon, darlin'." She taps his wet nose and watches as the dog bends down to lick her tennis shoe.

Sweeney pulls her up by the arm, tearing her away from the dog and to his side. "We need to get going," he explains when she looks confused at the physical contact.

Carol is watching them carefully, especially Sweeney, sharp eyes analyzing every move, every hand gesture. Feeling violated from her probing eyes, he steps back and lets Eleanor say her goodbyes.

When Sweeney is standing in the hallway and Eleanor leans in to hug her, Carol hisses in her ear, "You lucky bitch, he's so _fine_!" She grins, hugging her friend tighter. "No wonder you keep him under wraps, I'd never let him leave the bedroom!"

Eleanor nearly chokes, coughing into her hand as she pulls away from Carol, staggering back to Sweeney. He looks warily between the two women, but says nothing when Eleanor takes his arm and begins dragging him down the hallway, her face the color of her hair.

"Do you realize your friend just molested me with her eyes?" He asks, sounding mildly amused now that the blonde girl is out of sight. If at all possible, Eleanor's blush deepens, and he says no more on the subject.

The silence between them is awkward as they climb back into the BMW and pull into traffic again. Nellie tries not to think about leaving Louie for days or Carol's insane innuendo or how Sweeney must have noticed how red her cheeks were. The quiet becomes unnerving after a while however, with her being such a naturally chatty person.

The view outside her window changes from towering buildings to more dull scenery, and her attention wanders. Sweeney has been in a particularly nasty mood for the past week, and she knows it's because of how much he's been dreading this trip. She hates to think of all the 'F' papers he must be giving out because of his foul mood. She feels sorry for his poor, unsuspecting students.

As her mind wanders on its own, she wonders how his classes have been since her impromptu visit the week before. He never mentions it, and Nellie finds herself imagining what it must have been like for him, having to face his class after she supposedly "hit" on him. She moves a hand up to her mouth to cover her smile as she thinks of him standing in front of his class, defending his honor in that bored, monotone voice : "The woman you saw here yesterday, Mr. Russell, was a very old friend of mine, and no we are not 'doing it.'"

She stifles a giggle at the thought of him saying such a thing, but it's an unsuccessful attempt, and he glances over at her like she has lost her mind. Quickly wiping the grin off her face, Nellie reaches for the radio knobs, no longer able to stand the silence.

At first, all she gets is static and the occasional news program, but then she hears something resembling music and stops. She has heard it before, it isn't something she normally listens to, but it breaks the silence, and for that she's grateful.

Sweeney still hasn't said a word, his eyes on the road ahead, jaw clenched. Peeking at him from behind her sunglasses, Eleanor turns the volume knob to the right, until the car is practically vibrating with the sound of rap music. The professor slowly turns to look at her and she gives him an innocent grin, mouthing the words to the song. "Stay up out my biznazz..."

He glares menacingly and she laughs, leaning back in her seat. "What? Don't you ever want to just turn the music up an' sing?" His expression does not change and she heaves a deep sigh of defeat. "Fine then, be that way." She turns down the music considerably, tapping her fingers against her thigh instead.

They drive in silence again for a good ten minutes before she sighs heavily, causing him to glance over at her. "What?" He asks, sounding like he really doesn't want to know.

"Nothin'," she says, turning to stare out the window.

"That was not a 'nothing' sigh," he presses, although he still sounds like he couldn't care less. It is the tone of voice she has come to realize as his 'annoyed with Eleanor' voice. "That was a 'something' sigh."

Suddenly turning to look at him, she runs a hand through her tangled curls and asks, "Why are you bein' so cranky?"

"Why are _you _being so quiet?" He counters.

She ignores him. "I told you that you didn't 'ave to go, but you said you would - "

"I know," he says, silencing her. His eyes are back on the road like their conversation never happened, but for the remainder of the car ride, he makes an effort to speak to her when he has something to say, and lets her turn up the radio when he doesn't.

They're only about half an hour away from the hotel when he asks the question that has been plaguing him for the past week. "Why is it so important to you to go on a vacation?"

Eleanor turns her head to look at him and thinks about dodging the question before she sees the look on his face. He genuinely wants to know, and the earnestness in his expression makes her answer truthfully. Looking down at her hands, folded in her lap, she says, "Because that's what friends do. They go away together when they need a break."

He tears his eyes from the road for a second to look at her, surprise evident on his face. "Friends?" She flushes and nods, not looking at him. He thinks of all the things he's done or hasn't done. He hardly qualifies as a friend to her. More like the moocher family friend that won't go away. "What makes me your friend? Certainly there are people more qualified for such a position."

She fidgets in her seat like this conversation is making her uncomfortable, but he can't let this go without knowing what would possess her to think of him in such a way. "Because...because no matter what you do or say, no matter 'ow much I may get on your nerves, we still find our way back to one another. That's friendship, Professor T."

In that case, Eleanor is the closest thing he has ever had to a friend since his days as Benjamin Barker. Benjamin had had a lot of friends, he remembers. When she finally gets over her embarrassment and looks at him, he asks, "Why Atlantic City?"

She smiles behind her sunglasses, twisting an auburn curl around her index finger. "True friends 'ave fun wherever they are, love."

He has had enough 'Questions and Answers' for one day, and the rest of their time in the car is spent in contemplative silence, the crackle of the radio between them. It's dark when they walk into the lobby of the Borgata Hotel. Just as Sweeney predicted, he carries her bags up to their room, a suite with a king size bed and a sleeper sofa that Eleanor insists they will take turns sleeping on.

When Eleanor slides the card into the lock and opens the door, he drops the bags in the middle of the room and takes a look around. If he was not so used to masking his emotions, his jaw might have dropped. Of the two of them, Eleanor makes the most money, and she had insisted on paying for a lavish suite to spend their three day visit in, since this whole thing had been her idea.

As he looks around, Sweeney decides he is going to spend every spare second on the plush-looking sofa with the silk pillows, in front of the plasma screen television. Soft beige carpeting, two chaise lounges with plump pillows, expensive knick-knacks, fresh flowers, a mini bar and floor to ceiling windows giving a beautiful view of the city, complete the opulent setting. A lamp on a table with a dark wood finish gives the living room a warm glow, and he suddenly wants to volunteer to spend all three nights on the sofa.

He turns to look at Eleanor, only to see her grinning at him. "Satisfied?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow. Unable to speak, he only nods. She tosses the card key onto the nearest table and wanders off to explore the rest of the suite.

"There's a shower for two in 'ere," she shouts from the bathroom. "Don't get any ideas."

He drops down onto the sofa with a content sigh, too relaxed to be annoyed with her antics. "Wouldn't dream of it, pet."

It takes several minutes, but Eleanor finally makes her way back into the living room, babbling about the large tub, the dining area and the unfathomable amount of furniture. "Maybe we should stay a few more days to get our money's worth," she mutters, still looking around. She collapses in a chaise lounge and picks up the remote when he doesn't answer.

She flicks through the endless channels until she finds something interesting, and although the movie has been on for half an hour, she knows what is going on and decides to leave it. Slipping off her sneakers, Eleanor curls up and leans her head against the armrest. She looks at Sweeney and nearly laughs when she realizes he has fallen asleep. His breathing is deep and even, his hands are folded across his chest, and his face looks almost peaceful without his usual scowl. He looks as gentle as she knows he is capable of being. Expression softening by the second, Nellie resists the urge to go to him and push that dark lock of hair out of his face.

As the movie progresses, she catches herself thinking of him and the things they'll do in the next few days more than the plot on the screen. She tells herself that this is normal, that friends look forward to spending time together. _Friendship_. That's what she had told him, and that's what she meant. She is not about to delve into those old emotions again. It's been a long time since she allowed those sort of feelings for him, 162 years to be exact. She had stopped loving him when the flames started licking at her flesh. She _had_ - and no one could convince her otherwise.

She spends nearly an hour alternating between daydreaming and watching the movie. Sweeney finally rouses from his nap when the movie is about halfway over. When he moves to sit up, Eleanor is startled and whips her head in his direction. "Oh. Hello, love. Scared the whits outta me."

Instead of mumbling an apology, he stares at the television, watching a man with dreadlocks and a jar of dirt run along a beach. "What the hell are you watching?" He asks, his voice deep from sleep.

"Pirate movie," she says, a dreamy smile forming on her lips. "Johnny Depp." She frowns suddenly, looks at him, looks at the tv, and then back again.

"What?" His nap seems to have improved his mood, and he is feeling tolerant enough to deal with her right now.

"Nothin'," she says, still frowning. "You just look quite a bit like 'im, that's all."

His brow furrows but he looks mildly amused. "Nonsense. I'm much better looking than he is."

She squints at the television. "I dunno, love. If 'e wasn't so tan, you could be twins."

Sweeney looks more closely at the screen, then shakes his head. "Don't be preposterous."

Shaking her head enthusiastically, Eleanor leans closer to the television. "No, you definitely resemble 'im, I can't understand why I never noticed before." She gets a sly look on her face suddenly, and turns to look at him, her face a mask of seriousness. " 'E may be just a tad more good-lookin' though. No offense, dear."

He looks insulted at this, his good mood brought down a notch. "Well then maybe I should inform you, _Eleanor_, that _you _look just like that woman in Planet of the Apes."

She gasps, putting a hand to her mouth. "You take that back, Sweeney Todd."

He arches an eyebrow at her. "Make me."

Reaching behind her, she grabs a pillow and tosses it at his head, narrowly missing. He chuckles, and Nellie is pleased that for the time being, he's not completely miserable. Using the pillow she'd chucked at him to cushion his head, he says, "Honestly, Eleanor. Having a crush on a movie star. You're an adult for god's sake."

"It's not a crush," she insists. "I just find 'im tolerably 'andsome, that's all." She crosses her arms over her chest, and her legs at the ankles, looking for all the world like a petulant child. Turning her attention back to the movie, she sighs. "Although, I find 'is director friend...Burton, I think it is, quite attractive...I dunno why."

Sweeney looks like he desperately wants to say something at this sudden disturbing revelation, but wisely stays silent on the matter. Eleanor has proven to be violent when angered and she has a whole pile of pillows in her arsenal.

_--_

_There is no armor against fate..._

Urd smiles as she watches her mortals totter off to bed that night, their 'goodnights' awkward after having such friendly conversation. She watches Lovett slip into bed and turn out the light, her thoughts filled with the time she'll spend with her 'friend' in the coming days, and she watches Todd stretch out on the comfortable sofa, resting his head on the pillow Lovett had thrown at him hours before. It looks to be a very promising trip, she's hoping that when they leave, things will be much different than when they had arrived.

"I have to hand it to you," Skuld looks at her sister admiringly. "Lovett's confession of friendship in the car was beautiful. Did you see the look on that man's face? What on earth possessed her to say such a thing?"

Urd smiles. "She happened to find a _Lifetime _movie about friendship on television the night before. A couple of things like honesty and trusting your friends stuck out to her. It was still fresh in her mind on the car ride." She shrugs. "I can hardly be blamed for her impeccable memory."

"Beautiful," Skuld murmurs again, shaking her head. "I think she still loves him."

"Of course she does," Urd scoffs. "She doesn't know she does, that's the problem. But we know deep down, she never really stopped. It doesn't matter though, she'll be easy enough when the time comes. What matters is _him_. He has to reciprocate those feelings or nothing will _ever _come of it." Looking in on them again, she sees one dreaming peacefully, the other plagued by nightmares, as per usual. "Yes...Todd is the one I need to work on."

Skuld watches them too, a devious look taking root in her eyes. "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Urd has only just started plotting in her mind when Verdandi speaks up for the first time. "Start out small. Send him a dream. Dreams always plant the first seeds."

"A dream?" Skuld frowns. "What good will that do? Shouldn't you start out on a larger scale?"

"No," Verdandi says slowly and deliberately, as though talking to a simpleton. "Dreams are your subconscious. Start with dreams and he'll be thinking about her all the time in no time at all."

"Perfect," Urd nearly jumps up and down with the bliss of such a simple yet brilliant idea. She hasn't sent anyone a dream in quite some time. She thinks on it, decides the best course, and weaves a lovely little dream of another life into the mind of Sweeney Todd.

As nightmares give way to happier dreams filled with Lovett and her pretty smile, the look of frustration leaves his sleeping face and is replaced by one of peaceful slumber. He stops tossing and turning in his sleep and settles into the sofa cushions quietly, pulling his blanket tighter around him.

Urd smiles with satisfaction and looks on in pride.

* * *

A/N-Okay, so the vacation was supposed to be only one chapter, but now it has morphed itself into two. This is the first half(I know it was pretty uneventful, sorry guys!), the next half isn't written yet, but you'll get to see their shenanigans in Atlantic City. Sorry for splitting it up, but it would have been too long otherwise! I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, Lifetime, Planet of the Apes, Tim Burton or any other pop culture reference made in this chapter. Oh, the quote is by James Shirley and the title of this chapter is from a quote of Lord Byron's : "Friendship is love without his wings". Thanks so much for your reviews, your thoughts are always much loved and appreciated:)


	8. Tequila and The Beatles

Passing Strange

When the harsh light of morning filters in through the large windows in the living room, Sweeney Todd opens his eyes to find himself on a sofa, in a room he doesn't recognize. He feels a little disoriented, as one always does when waking up somewhere unfamiliar. And then he remembers. Borgata Hotel. Atlantic City. Under normal circumstances, he would have sighed and stomped off to the bathroom to change, but he doesn't. Instead, he lies there on the plush sofa for a while, reclining on his back, arms behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. He feels strangely content this morning, and he isn't quite sure why.

Stretching lazily, he gets to his feet and decides to get dressed and make breakfast for himself and Eleanor. Not once does it cross his mind that this might be an odd thing for him to do, especially considering his tendency to be the biggest grouch possible in the mornings. He practically hums as he cracks an egg over a pan in the kitchen. The suite is impossibly large, complete with a kitchen and cooking utensils. He doesn't want to think about how much it's costing his still-slumbering companion.

He's in the process of sliding Sunny Side Up eggs onto a plate and humming the last verse of _On The Street Where You Live _when Eleanor wanders into the room in shorts and a tank top, sitting down at the dining room table,sniffing the air. "Goodness, love," she says. "What's gotten into you? Cookin' and hummin' so early." She frowns. "Hummin' at _all_, really."

"Nothing," he says, sliding a plate in front of her. "Just felt like cooking this morning, is that a problem?"

She shakes her head slowly.

"Orange juice?"

She gapes at him as he holds up a carton, as if trying to decide whether or not to call the nice young men in their clean white coats. "Alright. Who are you and what 'ave you done with Sweeney Todd?"

He really looks at her for the first time since she walked into the kitchen, and nearly drops the carton of orange juice, compliments of the hotel staff. It suddenly hits him, why he's in such a good mood. Usually, he has nightmares every night, but last night he hadn't. He hadn't woken up cranky and irritated because of the horrors that await him in his sleep. And now, looking into Eleanor's face, he knows why. He'd dreamt of her.

Almost mechanically, he puts the carton down on the table, and she reaches for it, still eyeing him suspiciously. "You sure you're alright, dear?"

He ignores her, abruptly striding out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. Leaning against it, he closes his eyes and tries desperately to steady his breathing.

The dream. Why hadn't he remembered? It seems so clear now, vivid and bright in his mind. It had been a nice dream, now that he thinks about it. Eleanor had been there, of course. Smiling at him. It was a smile he'd only seen on her face once before, right before he'd thrown her into the oven - a smile of relief and complete happiness. He hasn't seen that smile since. Until now. Everything else is a bit hazy, but he definitely remembers that brilliant grin. And that laugh of hers that he only recently has become acquainted with - a tinkling, contagious laugh that makes him want to smile back, no matter how foul of a mood he is in. His frown deepens as he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. This just doesn't make any sense. Why is he dreaming about Eleanor, or thinking about her with such..._fondness_?

At first, he thinks maybe it was something he ate before going to bed the night before. But he hadn't eaten anything. Then it must have been the hunger, he decides. Yes, that's it. Well, no more of that. That matter settled, he opens his eyes and sees the large tub and shower for two Eleanor had been babbling about the night before. _Damn_. Is he suddenly thinking of her more often, or has it always been this way and he just hasn't noticed? He shuts his eyes again, only to be met with the dream once more. Flashes of red hair and images of entwined fingers, and wedding bands race across his mind. Laughter echoes in his head.

Growling, he stalks away from the door and turns on the shower. Stripping off his clothing and leaving them in a heap on the tiled floor, he steps under the spray of cold water and lets it shock him to his senses. What on earth has come over him? He stands there under the shower head for a good ten minutes, letting the cold water beat against his bare chest and soak his hair.

When he starts shivering he turns the shower off, steps out, and wraps a towel around his waist. Walking over to the mirror, he stares at himself. He doesn't look any different. No less sane than the night before. The shower has done him some good though, he has already shaken off what little he remembered of the dream. By the time he steps out of the bathroom, it has faded to blurred images and lines, nothing but a memory.

_--_

"There you are love," Nellie walks behind the professor as he exits the bathroom. "Your eggs are cold. I can make more if you - " Whatever she'd been about to say next is lost to her as the dark-haired man turns to face her. It's then that she realizes he is clad in only a towel and he's still dripping water from his shower. For a moment, all she sees is a well muscled chest, and she stands there gaping like a fish before finally snapping her mouth shut and forcing her eyes up to his face.

"Can I help you?" He asks after several seconds of silence, sounding like his normal, grumpy self once again.

She shakes her head and tries not to stammer. "Just...informin' you that I'll be by the pool for a couple of hours. Then we can meet up for lunch or whatever you want to do."

He raises his eyebrows. "The pool? You don't tan, you turn red like a lobster."

Eleanor does _not _notice the way his damp hair is falling over his eyes, and she _definitely _doesn't see that droplet of water making its way down his pale chest and stomach, into the towel around his waist. She swallows. "I-I know that. I 'ave sunblock. 'Sides, I just want to sit by the water." Avoiding looking anywhere but his face, Nellie crosses her arms over her chest and hopes he doesn't notice that her voice is a pitch higher than normal. "Come fetch me in a couple of hours and we'll do somethin' together, all right?"

He nods, confused by her odd behavior.

"Good," she breathes, walking swiftly past him, her eyes glued to the floor. He watches her go, brow furrowed.

Once Eleanor has recovered her senses and assures herself that anyone would be speechless after coming across their roommate half naked, and it has nothing to do with the man in particular, she pulls on jeans and a t-shirt over her bathing suit, slips on a pair of flip flops and heads to the hotel's pool. The pool is located in the back of the building, surrounded by greenery and a wrought iron fence for privacy. Just outside the gate, she can smell the chlorine and shivers with delight.

The water lapping against the sides of the pool reminds her of the ocean. She smiles at the memory of her long-ago dream of living on a beach and feeling the sand beneath her feet. Her dream is no longer the sea, she has seen enough of it in her lifetime. She still loves it, but she has discovered that the beauty of the sea is not living near it, so one never gets used to its wonders. She wants to always look at the sea in awe and with delight. Not as just that big wet thing out her front door. No, Eleanor Lovett's ultimate fantasy is no longer living by the sea, but in the suburbs. A family, growing old with someone she loves, white picket fence, gas-guzzling SUV, nosy neighbors - the works. She finds it ironic that she always wants the thing she can't have.

Commandeering one of many lounge chairs lining the side of the expansive pool, Nellie lifts her t-shirt over her head, slips off her jeans and collapses in the chair with a romance novel she'd hidden in her luggage. Sliding her dark sunglasses down over her eyes, she reaches for her sunblock and lathers it over her arms and legs, thinking back on her morning so far.

Perhaps this trip had been a bad idea, being alone all day with Sweeney Todd. No job or friends to run off to before things get too tense. She can remember the last time they spent so much time together, and it had ended with her in an oven.

Wincing, she puts this thought out of her mind. She doubts he still wants to kill her anyway. At least she certainly hopes he doesn't - it might put a damper on their friendship. Opening her book, she puts troubling thoughts away and focuses on the problems of Scarlet and the mysterious but sexy stranger in town.

When a man in a waiters uniform comes by with a tray of drinks, she eyes the one with the colorful umbrella, hands the man his money, and lifts the glass from the tray. Two hours, two Pina Coladas and one romance novel later, Sweeney still has not come to find her and Nellie is a bit irked.

She gathers her things, slips on her clothes and heads out of the hot sun, into the air conditioned hotel and casino. The cool air hits her like a slap in the face, making her feel a little light-headed as she wanders to the elevators to make her way back to their suite. But Sweeney isn't in their hotel room, lying on the sofa in front of the large television, where she expects to find him.

She spends a little time waiting for him, changing her outfit, freshening her makeup, spritzing on perfume, slipping on heels. Still, no sign of the former barber. Annoyed now, Nellie makes her way down to the noisy, crowded casino. She finds him at a slot machine, in deep concentration. He doesn't even notice when she comes up behind him, peering over his shoulder. She is still irritated that he didn't come to find her, so she flicks the back of his ear with her thumb and forefinger, making him jump in surprise.

He turns around. "What the hell - Oh." It seems to register with him that she is looking decidedly angry, hands on her hips, towering over him and looking rather intimidating in those heels. Then it dawns on him. "_Oh._ I was just coming to find you, my dear."

"Sure you were," she scoffs. "Just 'urry up and finish. I'm bloody starvin'."

"Are you insane woman?" He asks, gesturing to the machine. "I can't leave now! It'll take all my money!"

She sighs, leaning against the side of the slot machine and folding her arms. "Love, that thing 'as already taken all your money."

He shakes his head, and Eleanor takes note of the crazed look in his eyes. She's seen this before, when the game becomes more than just a game and turns into an addiction. "No, I've got it all figured out. I've cracked the code." He shoos her away from the lever and pulls it.

"Are you bloody crazy?" She asks incredulously. "You can't crack the - "

"You'll see," he murmurs, watching the little symbols line up one by one.

Her eyes widen as she watches. So far all the pictures match perfectly and she turns to see Sweeney completely frozen, staring. She doesn't think he's even breathing. Biting down on her bottom lip anxiously, she places a hand on his shoulder and leans over, watching nervously as the last symbol comes up.

The alarm goes off, a trilling, happy little noise that resounds across the already noisy casino. Lights flash and Nellie is momentarily blinded, taking a step away from the machine and laughing. He'd actually done it! People around them are clapping, except a man at the next machine, who apparently hasn't been so lucky.

She looks over at Sweeney, sitting at his stool, still staring at the symbols, as if in shock. Putting her hand back on his shoulder, she gives him a little shake. "You won!" He turns to look at her, wearing his 'I-told-you-so' smirk, and says nothing. Eleanor rolls her eyes and tugs on his arm. "Get your money and let's go. You're buyin' me lunch today, Professor."

"Of course pet," Sweeney murmurs, his attention already back to the machine as it calculates his earnings.

After Sweeney has collected his winnings, they go to lunch at a café down the street and the rest of the day passes in relative peace. After lunch, Eleanor forces him to go shopping with her, and he serves as her official bag-holder for an hour or two before she can't take any more of that pitiful expression of misery on his face and they head back to the hotel.

He takes her to a blackjack table and they play for a few hours, winning a little and losing a lot. But it's the most fun she's had in a while, taking risks and making bets, drinking, getting Professor Todd to laugh occasionally, so she figures the money she loses is worth it.

They both go to bed happy that night, or at least, content, and Nellie is starting to think maybe this vacation had been a good idea after all.

_--_

The karaoke bar is filled to the brim with people as they shove their way to an empty table in the back. She drops down into her chair with a sigh, grinning at the warbling going on on-stage. A young man is in the middle of his rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On', and failing miserably. She almost feels sorry for him, but in a sick, twisted, American Idol auditions sort of way, she enjoys the performance anyway.

Sweeney makes it back to their table with a round of drinks, two shots of tequila each. Eleanor nearly winces. Tequila is not her friend. It's her one weakness. Any other drink she can take like a man, but tequila..She shudders. He puts the shot glasses down on the table and reaches up to massage his temple as he sits down. "You _really _want to spend an evening in this place?" He asks, and she can't tell if he's complaining or genuinely curious.

She nods anyway, picking up a glass. "It'll be fun, love. You jus' need a few drinks to loosen you up, is all." He picks up his glass as well, and their eyes meet. "Bottoms up." He downs his drink just a second sooner than she does, but it's enough to make her reach for her second glass, determined to out-drink him.

The second glass is gone in half a second, and she slams it down on the table before he can. "Next round, please," she says, wiping away a droplet of alcohol on her chin.

He looks doubtful. "Are you sure you want to - "

"I'm payin'," she cuts in, slapping some money down on the table.

Raising his eyebrows, he relents, picking up the money. "Alright, Eleanor. Don't say I didn't warn you."

She waves him away, and he's off with her money to get more drinks. After today, she can afford to spend the money on alcohol. They'd spent most of their second day in the casino, playing poker side-by-side. Nellie finds that she is more daring with Sweeney Todd sitting next to her, she isn't quite sure why. She supposes he brings out the careless side in her. It had payed off today though, and she'd come away with more money than she had started with.

The next round of drinks comes and goes quickly, with Sweeney hardly affected and Eleanor swaying in her seat. "Y'know," she says, slurring her words. "Why are you so drank when we together the same amount?" She stops, eyebrows knit together, and holds up a hand. "Wait, that's not right."

He smirks. "I do believe you're intoxicated, Eleanor."

"I am _not _drunk," she insists. "I've jus' been...over served."

He fights a chuckle, looking into his shot glass. "I haven't seen you like this since the sixties. You were quite the booze hound then."

She scowls. "Everybody was drunk in th' sixties."

Tilting his head to the side in silent agreement, he pushes the next glass toward her. She stares at it, biting down on her bottom lip. The corners of his mouth lift into a smile. "You're not letting me win, are you?"

"Not bloody likely," she snaps, picking up the glass with trepidation. The part of her mind that is still able to function properly is warning her that she's had enough, that she should quit before she makes a fool of herself. Her competitive streak wins out in the end, and she downs two more shots before Sweeney finally concedes, not because he's drunk, or even close, but because Eleanor can hardly sit up in her chair. She won't quit until she wins, she's stubborn that way, and he isn't in the mood to clean up after her if she throws up the next round of drinks.

He finds her terribly amusing when she's drunk, her accent gets thicker, she becomes very clumsy, and if she's awfully intoxicated, she begins spouting off random useless facts - he has no idea where she gets them. The last time she was drunk, he'd learned that the only insect that can turn its head 360 degrees is the praying mantis.

Sitting back in his chair, he folds his arms over his chest and observes her swaying in her chair, red curls beginning to fall from the updo she'd put it in earlier. She's giggling to herself, humming along as a college girl on-stage belts out the words to _You Can't Hurry Love_, her tipsy friends rooting her on.

The song finishes and Eleanor pouts at the sudden lack of music. "What 'appened to th' - " She seems at a loss for words, waving her hand about haphazardly as she searches her currently limited vocabulary. "Th' noise?" She finally spits out.

"Gone," Sweeney answers simply, pursing his lips to keep from laughing at her, both for his dignity and his safety. Laughing at Eleanor is never good when she's sober, he can only imagine how much worse it would be to laugh at her while she's drunk.

Her mouth forms an 'O' in understanding, then she gasps, a bright smile lighting her face. "Mr. T," she says, and he's surprised by the name. It's been years since she called him that. "Come an' sing wiv me."

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. "No," he states flatly, suddenly no longer in the mood to indulge her.

"Please?" She wheedles, sticking out her bottom lip.

He leans forward slightly, beckoning her closer, and whispers in her ear, "No way in hell, pet."

"Oh, you're no fun," she says, sitting back and reaching across the table. She snatches his leftover shot glass before he can think to stop her, downing the tequila with a sloppy grin. "I'm gonna sing." She stands up, sways dangerously and grips the chair for support. "As soon as th' room stops spinnin' like that."

"I don't believe that's the best idea," he cautions, but it's half-hearted attempt. She won't listen to him when she's in her rational mind, much less inebriated.

"Says who?" She drawls, placing her palms flat on the table and looking down at him. Her eyes are unfocused, and it's almost like she's looking in his direction instead of directly at him. He wonders if this is because she is seeing more than one of him at the moment.

"Says everyone in this bar who would rather not hear your drunken warbling," he says with a touch of amusement.

Eleanor points a finger in his general direction and fixes the table with a drunken glare. "You, my good sir, are jus' jealous because I can sing an' you..."

"Can't?" He finishes when she stops and looks confused, like she's forgotten where she is going with her speech.

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly, snapping her fingers clumsily. "Can't."

Gesturing to the unoccupied stage, he says slyly, "Prove it."

Just as competitive as when sober, Eleanor squares her shoulders. "I will." She stumbles off to a man standing near the stage, grumbling about barbers and Sweeney watches her with a great deal of enjoyment. She is so easy to manipulate when she's like this, he delights in doing so. He knows she's going to hate him in the morning, if she remembers he coerced her into making a fool of herself in a bar full of people, but he decides the pictures he's going to take with her camera phone are well worth her irritation.

He reaches across the table for the sleek black phone and flips it open. Her screensaver is a picture of that blasted dog, and he nearly growls at it. _Stupid mutt_. He quickly brings up the menu, and scrolls through it, trying to find the picture option as Eleanor climbs onto the stage with the help of two college boys with drinking hats, beer cans on either sides of their heads.

The music begins, and apparently everyone recognizes the song she's chosen, because several cheers are heard around the room. Eleanor is center stage, laughing, with the college boys on either side of her, swaying back and forth in harmony.

The first couple of verses she sings by herself, and even drunk she sounds pretty enough, he supposes. People are taking notice of her, stopping what they're doing to watch, tapping a rhythm with their fingers or feet. Someone on the other side of the bar is even yelling out words of encouragement. By the chorus, the boys have joined in, all three shouting into the microphone Eleanor is holding in between them. "_Well shake it up baby, twist and shout!_"

Sweeney manages to keep a straight face, and steadies the phone, snapping several priceless pictures. By the time the phone is back on the table, the bar is in an uproar. There are people standing on chairs, some on tables, and even a few on someone else's shoulders. They're all dancing, swaying, or holding up their own phones to take pictures or video. And to Sweeney Todd's horror, they are all singing along quite loudly. It's something he's seen in movies numerous times before, but to see it right in front of him is another matter entirely.

In unison, everyone in the bar, including the bartender, shouts along to the Beatles classic. "_C'mon c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now, (come on baby). Come on and work it on out. (work it on out)!_"

Face in palm, Sweeney shakes his head, trying his best to pretend he has no idea who the woman on stage is. Only Eleanor has the ability to cause this sort of chaos.

"_You know you twist your little girl, (twist, little girl). You know you twist so fine. (twist so fine). Come on and twist a little closer, now, (twist a little closer). And let me know that you're mine!"_

At this point, the microphone has been tossed to the floor and Eleanor has somehow made it to the bar, standing over everyone as she climbs onto a bar stool and steps onto the counter. Her high heels are not exactly appropriate for climbing on top of bars, and he finds himself holding his breath, waiting for her to topple to the floor. She doesn't, and he isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed by this. The good people of the karaoke bar are still shouting along in a rendition that would have made John Lennon proud, but things are getting a little too wild for the professor. He had expected Eleanor to get up there and stumble her way through a ballad, and then lean on him as they walked back to their suite. He certainly hadn't expected this. Now, he has a feeling Eleanor is only a few seconds away from flashing the whole bar.

Rising from the table, he grabs her purse, shoves her phone inside, and makes his way over to the bar. He pushes his way to the front of the large crowd gathered around her, and by large crowd he means every single person in the bar. Eleanor takes the hem of her black pencil skirt and raises it slightly, just enough to flash more bare thigh than is necessary and cause the crowd to go into a frenzy. Standing beneath her, he shouts, "Eleanor, get down from there!" He sounds like her father, but at this moment, he feels like he is. Either she doesn't hear him or she is pretending she doesn't, because she merely closes her eyes, singing along with the crowd, hands in her hair and twisting about.

"_Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now. (shake it up baby)!"_

He sighs heavily and grabs her ankle, yanking her down and into his arms. She squeals in surprise and then proceeds to giggle that Professor Todd is carrying her bridal-style out of the bar. Even sober she would have found this humorous. As he makes his way through the crowd, Eleanor in his arms, the music is still loud and people are still singing, clapping wildly as he carries her off.

When they're out of the bar and find themselves in the middle of the street instead, Sweeney feels like he can breathe again and lets out a sigh of relief. Eleanor has since switched from_ Twist and Shout _to _Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys_, which she complains had been her next song choice before he dragged her out of the bar like a killjoy. He ignores her chatter for the most part, focused on getting to the hotel across the street and taking her to their room. He should have known tequila would be a bad idea.

As long as he is around to stop her, Eleanor is never going to have tequila again. Especially if she is going to continue serenading him the way she is now. "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks. Let 'em be doctors an' lawyers an' such. Mamas don't - "

"Eleanor," he interrupts irritably as they enter the hotel lobby. "Why don't we let Willie Nelson sing that one, alright?" She pouts, tightening her arms around his neck. He can smell the alcohol on her breath and cringes. She can't really be blamed for this one though, he'd antagonized her, and she always rises to a challenge. No, this time, he has no one to blame but himself. He reminds himself of this when he gets the sudden urge to 'accidentally' drop her.

Once in the elevator, he leans against the wall and shifts her weight slightly, keeping one arm under her knees and the other just beneath her chest. It takes a bit of effort, but he manages to press the button for their floor without dropping her either accidentally or on purpose.

"Mr. Todd?" She asks, her speech slurred as her fingers tickle his neck.

"Mrs. Lovett," he says in return, waiting for her to continue. He tries to ignore her probing fingers but it isn't easy.

She lets out something between a laugh and a hiccup. " 'Member when you asked 'bout why I wanted a...a..." She gestures widely and he gets the hint.

"Vacation?" He asks.

"Mhm," she says. "I was'n tellin' the 'ole truth."

Intrigued, but not expecting a coherent answer out of her, Sweeney replies, "How so?"

Tracing an invisible pattern on his shirt with her index finger, it seems as though she is already losing interest in their conversation, but she manages to say, "Didn't want you...get bored 'n leave again." She smiles drunkenly into his shoulder. "Like 'avin' you 'round, I do."

Her answer, while not exactly eloquent, is coherent enough, and it shocks him so much that he nearly stumbles. She giggles when he trips, a hysterical laugh that tells him she is even more drunk than he originally thought. An old proverb comes to mind as he thinks over their very strange conversation, 'a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.' Sweeney doesn't have much time to contemplate this profound statement before Eleanor is babbling at him again, as chatty as ever.

"D'you know," she slurs, her hands finding their way into his hair. "That the average 'uman bladder can 'old up to 13 ounces of liquid?"

"Really?" He asks, pretending to be interested as she begins the part of her drunkenness he is more familiar with - useless information. She nods, well tries to anyway, but she just ends up dipping her head forward and leaving it there. "I didn't know that," he continues, playing along because she is much easier to deal with this way. "Did you know that I was once the Ambassador of France?" She's gullible when she's drunk, and he can never resist teasing her.

Her eyes widen, her expression suddenly serious as she shakes her head. "True friends'd mention somethin' like tha', y'know." She seems to be scolding him for not telling her such a thing earlier. "Always wanted t'go ta France."

"Apologies," he murmurs. She has already been to France, he knows this, but in her intoxicated state, she seems to have forgotten.

There is a moment of silence and then she says, " 'Uman blood...is the closest substance to sea water in terms of chemical comp'sition."

"How is it," he begins, letting out a breathless laugh and shifting her in his arms as the elevator doors slide open on their floor. "That unless you are spouting off random, useless facts, your speech is practically unintelligible when you're drunk?"

She gives him a befuddled look.

He sighs, wandering down the hall in search of their room. "Never mind, pet. I'll ask you in the morning."

She smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder, and he catches a whiff of her shampoo. A nice, clean smell. A smell distinctly Eleanor. "Pet," she whispers, almost as if she is talking only to herself. "Like it when you call me tha'."

He swallows as she nuzzles her face into his neck. "Well that is because you're a bloody loon."

Eleanor giggles loudly, her fingers curling into his hair. "You're funny sometimes."

"Thank you," he says distractedly, looking relieved when he sees the door to their suite at the end of the hall. The suite is dark and he stumbles his way down the hall to the bedroom. Eleanor's breathing has evened out, and he assumes she is either asleep or passed out.

Dropping her gently onto the bed, he turns on the light on the bedside table and takes a good look at her. Her clothes are rumpled this way and that, her hair is askew, red curls falling carelessly around her face, her makeup is smudged, and eyeliner smeared. He finds the image before him a little comical, and vows to remember it always to cheer him up in less happy times.

Sweeney contemplates changing her out of her clothes, but decides she will be embarrassed enough when she wakes up in the morning without him undressing her while she's unconscious. She begins to stir as he slips off her heels and tosses them onto the floor.

She blinks drowsily and watches as he turns without a word to leave the room. "Sweeney," she mumbles tiredly.

He turns to look at her, a hint amusement on his face.

"Thank you, love."

He nods, looking slightly taken aback, and leaves her alone. Eleanor sighs, leaning back into her pillow and falling asleep almost immediately. When she wakes up in the morning with a massive hangover, she will find a glass of water and some aspirin waiting on the nightstand for her, along with her cell phone full of incriminating pictures. Vowing never to touch tequila again, she goes about her day with a rather impressive headache, and tries not to blush when people point and say, "Hey, it's Twist and Shout!"

_--_

_There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed..._

Urd isn't quite sure what to think of Todd and Lovett's brief vacation. She'd given Todd the dream, and while it had startled him at first, he'd forgotten most of the important things by the time he emerged from his shower. It is endlessly frustrating, when you try to help someone and they act like they don't need your help when they so obviously do. They did get closer during the trip, but Urd thinks perhaps it was the tequila, not her scheming, that did it. Granted, they only had tequila because she sent the wind to blow Lovett's five dollar bill out of her hand and into the doorway of the little bar. Once she saw that is was a karaoke bar she'd stumbled upon, Lovett had dragged Todd inside on what she thought was a whim. So, in a roundabout way, it _had _been Urd's doing.

"Just out of curiosity," Skuld murmurs, watching the drive home from behind Urd's shoulder. Lovett is in the middle of torturing Professor Todd with some song called _Grillz_, completely recovered from her hangover from the day before. "What kind of dream was it?"

A strange, almost wistful smile marks Urd's features. "Oh, just your average 'dream of your possible future'. And it _was _his possible future, if he would stop dawdling."

"You gave him a dream of the _future_?" Verdandi looks scandalized. "Urd, do you realize how dangerous - "

"Oh don't get so bent out of shape, sister," Urd waves her away with a thin, pale hand. "It was hardly vivid. Just flashes. Not nearly enough to alter anything, he doesn't even remember the important things. And besides, I said '_possible _future.' He has to stop being so stubborn if it's to ever come to pass."

"Why give him a dream he won't remember?" Skuld asks, looking confused. "You know the memory of prophetic dreams doesn't last long."

Urd glares at her sister for daring to question her decision. "Well I had hoped some part of it would stick with him and have a lasting impression. Something. _Anything_, really. People can usually at least recall the emotions associated with the dream. Stubborn man!"

"Well it obviously didn't work out that way," Skuld says bluntly. "You can't make him remember a dream of the future, so now it's faded and he hardly recalls it. What good did that do?"

"What would you have me do then?" Urd asks, flustered and slightly irritated that her sister is criticizing her work.

"Another dream!" Skuld waves her arms about wildly. "This time don't let him forget it. He needs to remember if it's going to do any good!"

Urd looks contemplative. "What kind of dream?" She asks cautiously, intrigued.

Smiling in a most mischievous way, Skuld beckons her sister closer and whispers her very naughty idea.

* * *

A/N-Eesh. That was a bit longer than I intended.Haha Sorry guys, but hopefully you don't mind too much. I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the Borgata Hotel and Casino is an actual hotel in Atlantic City, I don't own it. The quote is by Napoleon Bonaparte, I don't own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter either. And yes, I got the Twist and Shout idea from Ferris Bueller's Day off. That's my favorite scene in the whole movie.Haha Person who can spot the Will & Grace quote gets a cookie. Thanks so much for all your reviews! Seriously, you're all amazing. And just a little hint, the next chapter is going to be bumped up to T...At least, it will be if I don't lose my nerve:)


	9. Sex and Other Nightmares

Passing Strange

The room is dark, pitch black now that night has fallen. He is fast asleep under the covers, dead to the world until his bedroom door opens and light spills into the room, illuminating everything. He stirs, blinking sleepily as a dark figure slowly makes its way to the edge of the bed. Squinting, he sits up to get a better look, and the blanket slides from his bare chest to pool at his waist. The figure crawls from the foot of the bed to sit on its knees in front of him. "Eleanor?" He asks gruffly, able to see her now. She is in her nightgown, a slinky black thing, her red hair falling around her face as she stares at him. "What are you doing in here?"

She doesn't speak, only reaches out one delicate hand and trails it down his cheek, biting down on her bottom lip. "Eleanor, it's three in the morning." He shakes his head as she inches a bit closer and drags her finger down his chest. Grabbing her wrist as she gets dangerously low, he says icily, "Go to bed."

Eleanor smiles lightly and pulls her hand from his grip to run it through his dark hair. "Not tired, love," she finally whispers, nipping at the skin of his neck with her teeth.

He swallows with difficulty, finding it hard to keep his wits about him. "I don't know what you're trying to - " Sweeney is cut off when Eleanor moves her head up and presses her lips to his, bringing her hands to the back of his neck to hold him in place. He opens his mouth to protest vehemently to this outrageous behavior and she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, moaning softly. Any form of protest Sweeney has disappears at this little sound, and he brings his hands, which had been frozen at his sides until now, up to rest around her rib cage. She tastes warm and cool at the same time, like cherries on a hot summer day, and he finds that he can't get enough of it.

Smiling into his mouth, Eleanor bites gently at his bottom lip. Sweeney groans slightly and slides his hands down her curves to rest below the hemline of her nightgown, at her knees. She pulls back briefly, lips red and swollen as she whispers in a husky voice that goes straight through him, "Should I go to bed now, Mr. T?"

Unable to form words, he only growls in response and covers her mouth with his own again. She lets out a surprised laugh that turns into a whimper as Sweeney's hands creep back up her thighs, taking her nightgown with them. He pulls her flush against him, their hips colliding. "Sweeney," she moans.

"Sweeney?"

Jolting awake, Sweeney Todd sits up in bed breathing heavily, to see an annoyed Eleanor standing over him, brow furrowed and hands on her hips. His alarm clock is going off, buzzing loudly in his ear, and he wonders how long he had slept through it before Eleanor came to rouse him.

"Get up, you lazy brute," she huffs, starting to pull the covers back, much to his dismay. "You're goin' to be late for work. Come on, up you go."

He grabs the blankets in a vice-like grip, eyes wide. A certain part of his anatomy is already _up_ and he doesn't particularly want her to know which part. "I am not a child, Eleanor," he snaps in his panic. "I'll get up when I'm damn well ready to."

Letting go of the blankets, she takes a step back and raises an eyebrow. "Very well," she says coolly. "You 'ave 'alf an hour before you're late for class." She turns on her heel and walks out of the room without another word. He curses himself for losing his patience with her. After all, it's only a dream. It doesn't mean anything. Right?

As he very slowly pulls himself out of bed, he tries to contemplate this from a professor's point of view. Thinking professionally instead of personally tends to keep him from panicking, which he finds most unbecoming. Dreams can mean anything, they're a manifestation of all the things going on in a person's life. Eleanor was obviously there because he lives with her, but why..._Why_ is he dreaming about her coming on to him? Is it a subconscious desire? As he walks out of his room and to the bathroom, hoping he doesn't run into Eleanor in the hallway, he quickly rules out this option.

How ridiculous.

Shedding the rest of his clothes, he steps under the spray of cold water, wincing as what feels like needles of ice pelt against his bare skin. Closing his eyes, he tries not to think about the dream. He tries to block out thoughts of her lips on his, the husky quality to her voice, the way her warm skin felt under his hands. Catching himself, he shakes his head wildly, flinging water this way and that.

He can't very well go to work like this. Scrambling for thoughts that have nothing to do with the redhead in the other room, he thinks about pop quizzes, car parts, former presidents, anything.

He doesn't want think about her that way, and he suddenly hates his own subconscious for making him do so now. He can't do this to Lucy. To have lascivious thoughts about the woman who'd caused her death is disgraceful to his late wife. He feels that old anger toward Eleanor bubble to the surface as he remembers what she had caused him to do so many years ago, and he holds on to it. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his heart, he knows that as much as he tries to deny it, she hadn't meant for him to kill his wife, but it doesn't make the memory any less painful.

It's been over one hundred years, he can no longer remember what Lucy looked like. He knows she had blonde hair, but he isn't sure if he knows this because it is a memory, or because he has spent so long repeating it to himself so he never forgets. '_She had yellow hair'. _

Having shaken off the dream enough to go out in public without causing himself any further embarrassment, Sweeney turns off the shower and hurriedly dresses for class. Eleanor is waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting at the table and reading a magazine with Louie at her feet. She's dressed for work, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other toying with the loose curls she'd styled her hair into that day.

The dream comes rushing back the second she looks up, and he immediately turns his gaze elsewhere, suddenly finding his shoes infinitely more interesting. Still, the dream won't go away, those images seem to be seared forever in his memory. Biting his tongue hard, he begins to mentally recite the Declaration of Independence to keep thoughts of Dream Eleanor at bay.

_When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to -_

"Breakfast is on the counter," she says, interrupting the Introduction. She turns back to her reading material and crosses her legs, her high heeled shoe sliding from her heel and dangling precariously from her toes. He unfortunately picks today of all days to notice what she's wearing - a skirt. Bare legs. Very smooth, soft bare legs he'd just dreamt about running his hands over.

He shuts his eyes briefly to focus and moves on to the Preamble, his favorite part. _We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness._

Feeling fully in control of his mind and body, he takes a deep breath and finally looks up. Eleanor hasn't moved, nor has she spoken since announcing rather coldly where his breakfast resides. Realizing she's still miffed at him for snapping at her earlier, but not having the time to deal with it and not being able to look at her without thinking very inappropriate thoughts, Sweeney grabs his briefcase lying on the table. "No time for breakfast."

She doesn't respond and he walks out the door without so much as a goodbye.

_--_

Paranoia.

Sometimes, a person can be paranoid for no reason - thinking someone is near when you're alone, thinking your every move is being watched, hearing voices that aren't there. But as Eleanor walks through the halls of the hospital on Thursday morning, the paranoia she feels is completely justified.

The walls seem to be humming with life, sets of eyes seem to follow her wherever she goes, and when she passes a group of co-workers in the hallway, she is positive she hears her name among their whispers. Puzzled by this strange feeling that something is not right, Eleanor tries to go through her work day as she usually does, which includes several surgeries and a few hours in the clinic. She is in the middle of taking the temperature of a preschooler when her cell phone rings from inside her lab coat.

"Don't take that out yet, love," she says gently to the little girl when she reaches up to touch the thermometer. The girl's hand immediately goes back to her lap, and she smiles shyly as Nellie reaches inside her pocket to answer her phone. Glancing at the caller id first and seeing Carol's name, she frowns and flips open the phone. "What?"

"Where are you?" Carol asks, her voice sounding strained.

Turning away from the little girl and her mother, both of whom are watching her intently, Eleanor lowers her voice slightly. "I'm with a patient, d'you need somethin'?"

"No," Carol says cautiously. "Just...um, just come to the lounge when you're done."

Nellie glances back at the mother and daughter, smiles patiently, and turns back to face the wall. "What's wrong? You sound terrible."

Carol sighs. "You're-you're not gonna like it. Just hurry."

A feeling of dread settles in the pit of Eleanor's stomach as she closes her phone, slipping it back into her lab coat. She has an inkling that this has something to do with the funny feeling she has been having all morning. But then, maybe Carol just had a fight with Tom and she's in the lounge crying her eyes out over a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels. Maybe her bad feeling is just because of how her morning had started off with Sweeney. He hadn't been in a very friendly mood that morning, less so than usual.

She sighs as she sends the mother and child away with some antibiotics. Just when she thinks she and Sweeney may be growing closer, he pulls away. Sometimes, she feels like she's the only person in the world who really knows him, and then other times, she feels like she is living with a complete stranger. She knows he tends to play things close to the vest, and she tries to give him his space, but sometimes she just wants to shake him until he tells her what he's thinking.

As soon as the flow of patients in the clinic begins to ebb away, Eleanor makes her way to the lounge, where she assumes Carol is still waiting for her. She ignores stares of passersby as she strides through the halls, in a much better mood after dealing with patients. Sometimes she hates working in the clinic, and then there are times like today, where she meets good people - caring parents, sweet children, and a college student who is actually sick and not faking it to get out of a test. Those are the days when Dr. Lovett leaves the hospital in a good mood.

The lounge is empty when Nellie finally steps inside, save one occupied chair at the table. A pensive looking Carol sits there at her laptop, biting her lip. She looks up when she hears footsteps, and spotting Nellie, she sits up a little straighter, clearing her throat.

Raising an eyebrow, Eleanor walks up to the table and raps her knuckles against the surface. "What'd you need, love? Sounded downright awful when you called."

Carol tugs on a strand of smooth blonde hair and says with lowered eyes, "That must have been one helluva vacation."

Heart in her mouth, Nellie's eyes fly to her friend's in alarm. "What d'you mean?"

Hesitating for a minute, Carol takes hold of the computer and turns it around to face her.

Eleanor's jaw drops.

_--_

His morning class seems to be in a talkative mood this morning when Professor Todd walks into his classroom ten minutes late. Normally, most students would have gone back to their dorms by now, and used the professor's tardiness as an excuse to blow off a class. But for some reason, no ever does this in Sweeney's class. No matter how late he ends up being, they are always sitting at their desks, waiting for him to show up.

Except this morning.

This morning, they are all gathered around a desk, leaning forward and staring intently at the screen of one student's laptop. The occasional gasp or giggle is heard from the large group, and Sweeney is reluctantly curious. They still haven't noticed his presence, and he's intrigued as to what has captured their short attention spans. At first, he thinks they're just watching more trampoline accidents on Youtube, but then he hears a familiar tune, and an even more familiar voice.

His stomach drops. _Dear God_. Someone hadn't...? Had they?

Grip tightening on his briefcase, he manages to slip to the back of the crowd of students silently, like a jungle cat stalking its prey. Peering over the shoulder of one of his taller students, he fixes his gaze on the computer screen and clenches his fist, catching himself before he can let out a rather creative string of obscenities.

On the computer screen, in all her drunken glory, is Eleanor Lovett, standing on top of a bar and flashing her bare thigh for the whole internet population to see.

"That is one hot mama," a sophomore standing next to Sweeney murmurs, entranced.

Sweeney pins him with a death glare, but the boy hasn't seen him, too busy watching Eleanor's rendition of a Beatles classic on Youtube. Now that Sweeney thinks about it, he remembers seeing people holding their phones up during her performance, getting video footage and pictures. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they might take it upon themselves to post it all over the web. He doesn't even want to think about how he is going to break this news to Eleanor. He has a feeling it's going to involve some sort of tantrum on her part.

"Hey," the voice of a boy near the front breaks Sweeney's concentration. "Doesn't she look like Professor Todd's - "

"Professor Todd's what?" Sweeney asks in a stern voice, drawing everyone's attention to the back of the crowd, where he stands looking rather menacing. He isn't sure if he is just imaging things, but he's almost positive he hears a collective gasp from his students at his supposed sudden appearance.

"P-Professor," the boy stammers. "What are you doing here?"

"This is a history class, is it not, Mr. Jenkins?" He asks with raised brows. The boy nods mutely while the rest of the students stare at their professor with wide eyes. The video is still playing, but no one is looking at it besides Sweeney, who finds himself unable to look away. He watches himself yank Eleanor rather forcefully from the bar and carry her out of the building amidst loud applause before the screen goes blank. He isn't sure what to feel at first, but then a sudden protective anger comes over him when he realizes that millions of people could be watching Eleanor in her moment of weakness. Millions of people could be watching her swaying her hips about and running her hands through her hair and flashing her thigh. Sweeney doesn't understand the irritation that wells up inside him, but he goes with the emotion in the meantime, fixing his students with an irate glare.

"Since most of you seem to find drunken bar dancing so much more fascinating than this class, I hope you won't mind staying a few extra hours to go over the next week and half's lectures." He smiles a frightening smile that reminds most of them of a tiger baring its teeth . "I think we'll get through the semester much faster with some extra work, don't you?"

They all stare at him, dumbfounded. A freshman girl closest to him starts to tremble.

By mid-afternoon he is feeling more like himself, and he is able to put the dream and the implicating internet video out of his mind for the time being. Having gone over a short and to the point speech in his head in order to tell Eleanor that there is a video of her on the internet, he feels more comfortable with that particular situation. If worse comes to worst and he decides he can't tell her, well, then he'll just happen to 'forget' about it. He even feels fairly confident that he can face Eleanor without having to recite major U.S. documents in his head to control his body's traitorous urges.

In the university library during lunch, he obtains a stack of book on dreams and finds the farthest table away from the librarian, in the darkest corner of the large room. Being the anal, analytical thinker that he is, he knows he will not be able to put the dream out of his mind completely until he has a few answers. He researches quietly for around half an hour, in which he learns that sexual dreams can be an outlet for emotional stress, a desire for less ritual in a routine lifestyle, or even his subconscious's way of telling him he is lacking in qualities that Eleanor possesses. _Like what_, he wonders. _Cheerfulness? Friendliness? She can bloody well keep those quality to herself. _

Eleanor _has _managed to make him a little more outgoing, he admits. At least, when it comes to being in her company. He's relatively the same around everyone else, but with her, it's different. He figures this must be because of how long he has known her. Maybe that's why he'd dreamt about her, because she is familiar. It's only natural that he dream about the woman he spends so much time with, right? And Eleanor is attractive, he guesses. If one likes that sort of woman.

Sweeney is in the process of convincing himself that he does _not _like that sort of woman, when he hears footsteps behind him, followed by a distinctly male voice, "Um, Professor?"

He scrambles to cover the books he has spread out in front of him with an oh-so-casual arm, and whips around to see Kurtis Russell standing there, fidgeting. "Can I help you?" He asks, pasting on what he hopes is a polite, wise professor smile.

Kurtis gestures to the seat across from Sweeney. "Can I sit?" Sweeney hesitates before nodding his consent, and Kurtis takes the seat nervously. The boy adjusts his baseball cap over his shaggy blonde hair, and glances up at his professor. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier today. None of us meant any disrespect. I mean, dude, we didn't even realize who it was up until the end!"

Sweeney only stares at him. Kurtis had been one of the students nearest the computer, staring with his mouth open. For some reason, he doesn't feel much like making this any easier on the boy.

He sighs. "I know I'm not your favorite student or anything, but you're my favorite professor. I hated history till you came along." Taking off his ball cap, he twists it in his hands, too wrapped up in his torment to realize how mussed his hair looks. "I just wanted to say sorry. I never woulda watched it if I'd known it was your chick, y'know?"

This time, Sweeney can no longer stand remaining silent and says with distaste, "She is not my _chick_, Mr. Russell."

He holds up his hands, fingers still clutching his cap. "Right, right. Sorry." Kurtis hesitates, staring down at the worn wooden table. "About her...I kinda wanted to ask you something."

Still using his arm to keep the contents of his reading material a secret, Sweeney sighs. "Make it quick."

"Well, y'know that chick that isn't your chick?" He asks, and Sweeney glares in response. "If you're not, y'know, dating or anything, I was kinda going to...ask her out?" Kurtis looks at Sweeney hopefully, seemingly unaware of how white his professor's face has gone.

It takes every ounce of Sweeney's years of practiced self control not to gape at the boy. "She is a bit...old for you, Mr. Russell," he finally manages after several seconds of silence.

He shrugs. "I'm cool with the whole Mrs. Robinson thing. Besides, she can't be that much older than me. What, like, 15 years?"

Sweeney almost chokes, fingers gripping the book beneath his hand tightly. _Try nearly two hundred. _

Kurtis grins boyishly. "It'll be like Ashton and Demi."

Grasping for some plausible reason why Kurtis cannot date Eleanor, Sweeney says, "She's an adult, Mr. Russell. A doctor. Why would you want to waste your time on her when you can go to the nearest keg party and find a willing freshman who drank too much of the spiked punch?"

Laughing, Kurtis looks at him like he's crazy. "She's hot, dude. Who wants a freshman when you can have a Sugar Mama?" He puts his baseball cap back on his head, backwards. "So what do you say?"

Sweeney squashes down the part of him that wants to shove Kurtis against the nearest bookshelf, hold a stapler to his throat and growl at him to back off. Because he most certainly does not care what Eleanor does with her life. She can date Mickey Mouse for all he cares.

"Do what you like, Mr. Russell. Eleanor's affairs are no concern of mine." He tells himself that it doesn't matter what Kurtis does, because Eleanor will never consent to going out with a starry-eyed college boy who only wants her for her body and her money.

At least, he hopes she won't.

_--_

When Sweeney walks through the door to his and Eleanor's apartment that evening, much later than usual because of his preoccupation with punishing his ogling students, he expects to find things relatively normal. He expects Eleanor to be in the kitchen making dinner and Louie to be on the sofa watching cartoons because Eleanor insists he likes watching Dexter's Laboratory.

Instead, when he opens the door and steps inside, he is met with complete silence. Louie is lying on the floor in front of the sofa, staring forlornly at the blank television set, and doesn't bother to get up to greet Sweeney with an enthusiastic bite to his pant leg, like usual. He looks around the living room warily before wandering towards the kitchen to find his roommate.

Upon entering the kitchen, he is greeted with an angry looking Eleanor. She's standing at the counter, looking down as she toys with a wooden spoon idly, mouth set in a tight, thin line. He is very well acquainted with this expression, and it never bodes well for him. Sweeney contemplates slowly backing out of the room before she notices his presence, but by the time he takes his first step backward, her eyes snap up to his, that piercing gaze stopping him in his tracks.

From there, things escalate quickly. The glare she sends his way is startling enough, but when she raises her arm and throws the wooden spoon at his head, he is utterly dumbstruck. He manages to dodge the blow, ducking just in time. The spoon sails over his head and smacks against the wall behind him, dropping to the floor with a _clunk_.

He stares at her in shock, slowly rising back up to his full height, watching her practically shake with rage. "What the hell was that for?" He asks incredulously.

"It's all your fault, you bloody bastard! You jus' _'ad_ to trick me into doing that, didn't you? And for your own sick, twisted pleasure!" She blindly reaches for another cooking utensil on the counter, this time a plastic spatula, and chucks it at him. He's too slow to avoid it this time and the spatula hits him square in the shoulder. Sweeney takes a step back, taking note of the knife lying on the cutting board, suddenly feeling very frightened of the fiery redhead behind the counter but not wanting to show it.

"Eleanor," he says, hoping his voice is firm enough to talk some sense in the woman. "Stop throwing things, this instant. You're behaving like a child!"

"Oh no!" She shouts, throwing up her hands. "Not a _child_. Children don't get pictures of 'em drunk at a karaoke bar plastered all over the bloody internet like Girls Gone Wild!"

Realization suddenly hits him like a ton of bricks. "Pictures? There are pictures too?"

She thankfully doesn't catch the word '_too_', caught up in her own rant. Moving closer to him, fists clenched at her sides, she looks ready to hit something, and he takes another step back. "Everyone in the 'ole hospital 'as seen those damn things! Do 'ave any idea what this is going to do to my reputation?" She reaches him and proceeds to take her small hands and smack his chest repeatedly. "Of course not! All you bloody care about is your own stupid amusement!"

Sweeney is at a loss for words, still unable to comprehend how this all ended up being his fault, and he stands there like a statue, letting her hit him if she needs to, mind working furiously. It isn't as if her little hands are doing much damage, he only finds it incredibly irritating, like a buzzing fly one has to keep swatting at.

"'Oh, let's get Eleanor drunk,'" she mimics him. "'That should be a bloody riot! And then we'll make sure everyone gets lots of pictures to post on their _Facebooks_!'" She's practically shrieking, and he's almost certain she is not really upset with him so much as upset with the world and taking it out on him.

Finally finding his voice again, he looks down at her, observing her flushed cheeks and eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Would you calm down? I didn't _force _you to drink seven shots of tequila, Eleanor!"

"No," she says mockingly, giving his chest one last half-hearted shove. "You may not 'ave forced it down my throat, but you were preyin' on my weakened state o' mind. You _coerced _me, that's what ya did!"

He grabs her hands to stop further abuse on his person and gives her a firm shake. "Breathe, woman!" It seems as though she is listening to him, because she begins drawing in large, panicked breaths, staring up at him tearfully, face pink. "You're acting like a deranged sociopath!"

She makes a face at this and jerks out of his grasp.

It occurs to Sweeney that he has never dealt with Eleanor in this particular state of Insanity, and he is at a loss for how to handle her. She's pacing the length of the kitchen now, muttering to herself about switching hospitals. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" He snaps defensively, not sounding at all apologetic. "How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that some idiot from the bar would post your escapades all over the internet? Do you think I _wanted _to walk into class and find my students ogling your legs?"

She stops pacing, whirling around to face him with wide eyes. "Your students saw it _too_?!"

He shrugs, figuring now is as good a time as any to break the news to her. "They were watching a video."

"There's a _video_?" She wails, tipping her head back to hold in hysterical tears, one hand on her hip. She looks every inch the pitiful creature, standing barefoot in the kitchen in faded blue jeans and snug fitting Aerosmith t-shirt, curls piled messily on top of her head. "Great, I can never meet you for lunch again." Eleanor looks at him tearfully, and bites down on her bottom lip. "An' I liked it there, too. They 'ave these really lovely fruit cups."

Sighing heavily, Sweeney eyes her slumped form as she leans against the sink, and deems it safe to move closer. For a good full minute, he only stands there, watching her try to breathe evenly, attempting once again to reign in her emotions. When he finally gathers the courage to pat her shoulder uncomfortably, she wastes no time in turning around to face him, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

He stands there awkwardly, feeling her hair brush against his chin and the warmth her body gives off. Then he forces his own body to relax, and in an almost comically slow fashion, he brings his arms around her tiny frame stiffly. It's been a long time since he has hugged another person, and he can't quite remember how to go about it. Granted, he _has _been hugged recently, Eleanor makes it her daily mission to provide him with some sort of physical contact, whether it be a brush of her hand against his, tousling his hair as she walks past him, or wrapping an arm around him. She always initiates it, and he is left to sit awkwardly until she turns her need to show affection to Louie, but this time, he has a strange feeling that she needs to be hugged back.

"I'm applyin' for a job somewhere else," she says, her voice muffled against his chest and drawing him from his thoughts.

He rolls his eyes. "Where? You work in the best damn hospital in the city."

She shrugs, considerably calmer now that she's gotten all of her anger out on him. "I dunno. Maybe Walgreen's is hirin'."

Stifling a chuckle at this, Sweeney visibly relaxes, his body becoming less like a stiff board and more like a human being the longer he holds her. "You'll go to work tomorrow, Eleanor. People will forget eventually."

She shakes her head stubbornly. "They won't."

"They will," he argues, voice gruff, and she lets him have his way.

"I'm never touchin' tequila again," she murmurs into his shirt.

"Spoken like a true Girl Gone Wild," he says wistfully, smirking when his comment earns him a pinch in the side from Eleanor.

They stand in the middle of the kitchen for several more minutes, until Eleanor finally comes to her senses and realizes how uncomfortable he must be. Hastily stepping out of his embrace, she glances at the floor and clears her throat awkwardly. "Sorry, love, " she mumbles.

He looks confused, dropping his arms back to his sides and blinking like he has just come out of some sort of trance. "For what?"

She gestures broadly. "For yellin' at you. Blamin' you for what 'appened." Looking guiltily toward the kitchen utensils lying on the floor, she sighs and shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "For throwin' kitchen appliances."

"Well," he says, silken voice full of mock seriousness as he regards her fondly. "Those appliances had it coming."

Eleanor smiles, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He sort of smiles back.

_--_

_But now our fate from unmomentous things, may rise like rivers out of little springs..._

"What did I tell you," Skuld smiles with pride as she and Urd watch the scene before them. Desperate to make Lovett her usual self again, Todd had let her put in The Notebook, and the woman is now crying her eyes out against Todd's shoulder. "Worked like a charm."

Urd is doubtful that the dream had had this much affect, she is more likely to believe the discovery of the pictures on the internet has something to do with their closeness now, but she doesn't say this to her giddy sister. "Yes well, if it lasts. You never know with those two." This is true enough, Todd and Lovett are wildly unpredictable when it comes to their romance, or rather, their lack thereof. She had been sure back in 1846 that the two would leave London and go to the seaside with the little boy, but then unexpected things occurred, and here she is, over a century later, wondering if they will ever fall in love.

Skuld ignores her sister's lack of enthusiasm. "I suppose we shouldn't get too excited," she concedes. "But it's a start."

"Indeed," Urd squints at the mortals, and comes to the conclusion that Todd is looking fairly uncomfortable with Lovett weeping into the fabric of his shirt.

"The boy trying to court Lovett should make for interesting opportunities, at least." Cackling, Skuld skips away from the image of the mortals, leaving Urd to her brooding. "He is the perfect catalyst. Everything depends on how those two react to his advances."

Verdandi frowns. "So if Todd doesn't become jealous, or Lovett doesn't turn the boy down, then there is no hope for them?"

Skuld looks hesitant, her good humor suddenly vanishing. "Not necessarily. It just makes our job that much more difficult."

Urd never takes her eyes off of the two human beings that had captured her attention nearly two centuries ago. "Let us hope it does not come to that."

* * *

A/N-You guys are seriously the best reviewers a gal could ever have:D That dream sequence was the most scandalous thing I've ever posted and I'm incredibly nervous about it.LOL Tell me what you think! The quote is from Anne Campbell, I don't own The Notebook, Youtube, Facebook, The Declaration of Independence or anything else that obviously isn't mine.


	10. Misunderstanding

Passing Strange

On Friday, Eleanor can no longer stand the blatant stares as she walks through the hallways and she can no longer handle walking into a room only to have a hush fall over everyone as if she'd been the subject of their chatter. In order to escape the perpetual hell and hold onto what is left of her sanity, Eleanor leaves the hospital grounds for lunch, taking a cab to New York University.

Sweeney had mentioned that morning before he left for work that if she found herself in need of a fruit cup, the university has better things to gossip about than her "soft core porn" video on youtube. She'd thrown a muffin at him from across the breakfast table for the remark, but she knows it is just his way of telling her she has an escape from the hospital if she needs it.

She slips in the back of his class again, just as students are shuffling out, balancing textbooks, book bags and papers. Their professor is standing behind his desk, dusting chalk off his hands, but when the door near the back of the classroom shuts noisily, he glances up.

When he spots her, she sees a knowing look cross his features, as if he'd suspected all along that she would stop by. Knowing him, he probably had. Eleanor pretends not to notice his expression and descends the steps, passing desks, chairs, and the occasional straggling student, until she reaches his side.

Sweeney regards her with that same expression on his face, almost smirking, and she sighs heavily, dropping her arms to her sides. "I'm only 'ere for the fruit cup, so wipe that look off your face."

He nods curtly, his voice patronizing. "Of course you are." She glares, but finds him unfazed. "I was not implying it had anything to do with your - "

She jabs a finger at his chest threateningly. "If you say anythin' sexually suggestive about that video I will - "

"You'll what?" He asks, looking down at her, arms crossed over his chest. He looks deadly serious, face a blank mask, but she doesn't miss the humor in his eyes.

Scrambling for some sort of threat, but finding none, she finishes lamely, "I'll - I'll go back to the 'ospital right now."

"Mm, yes," he says dryly, turning from her with a sigh. "That will teach me to keep my sexual innuendos to myself."

Eleanor wants to hate him then, for seeming to always get the best of her, but she doesn't. She has too much fun arguing with him to muster up any emotion other than the one that leaves her with a silly grin on her face as they stroll casually out of his classroom to seek out the cafeteria.

No one stares as they walk through the halls, and she finds this a refreshing change from her usual environment. She finds herself slowly relaxing as she goes through the lunch line and they find a table together, away from everyone else. It isn't until she has settled in and taken a sip of her strawberry flavored water that anyone pays her any mind at all.

A pretty girl with pale skin and short blonde hair stops at their table, holding a tray of food. "Hey professor," she says. "Do you think you could go over that last minute or so of the lecture again tomorrow?" She looks sheepish. "My pen ran out of ink, I missed a paragraph or so in my notes."

Sweeney regards her with the sternness of a father. "Miss Wright, I believe I have told you time and again to bring several pens, for just such an emergency."

The girl opens her mouth to protest when another girl with dark hair stops at the table as well. "Hey professor," she smiles sweetly, her green eyes bright. She tosses her hair behind her shoulder and smooths a hand over the back of her pants. "Great lecture today."

Eleanor puts a hand casually over her mouth to cover her smirk, meeting Sweeney's eyes from across the table. She sees a barely perceptible darkening of his eyes that lets her know he is aware of her amusement. He mumbles a 'thank you' to the dark headed girl he calls Sarah, and she wanders off to find a seat, swaying her hips the whole way.

"C'mon, Professor," the blonde girl resumes her pleading. "Please? It's not my fault! I loaned my other pen to Kurtis."

"Miss Wright, you should know better than to loan anything to Kurtis that you want returned." He says, and the girl laughs.

"Oh come on love," Eleanor speaks for the first time, smiling at the girl. "At least let 'er see your notes." He glares at her, trying to frighten her into shutting up, but it doesn't work. This isn't London, and Eleanor is no longer afraid of him. "Well you 'eard 'er. It was Kurtis's fault, not 'ers." They have a ten second staring match, silently battling for a victory, but a student behind Sweeney breaks his concentration by bumping into him, and he blinks. Eleanor grins triumphantly and he nearly growls, sneering at her as he nods his consent.

Looking at his bewildered student, he says begrudgingly, "Come by my class after lunch. I'll give you the bloody notes."

"Thanks," the girl smiles at him before turning to Eleanor, putting her tray on the table to hold out a hand to Eleanor. "I'm Jenny, your new best friend."

"Eleanor," Nellie pulls out the seat next to her, and motions for Jenny to sit down. "'Ave a seat, love." She ignores the swift kick to the shin Sweeney gives her from under the table, and Jenny sits down.

"So, I don't mean to pry," Jenny says, taking a bite of a chicken nugget. "But you're the woman in the Twist and Shout video, right?"

Eleanor delivers a kick to Sweeney's ankle when he nearly chokes on his coffee. "That recognizable, huh?" She asks the girl, looking glumly into her salad.

Swallowing a mouthful of some caffeinated drink, Jenny wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. "Oh I wouldn't have recognized you unless I already knew you from the last time you were here. Plus, the professor kind of flipped when he realized we were watching it, so I figured it had to be you."

"Flipped, eh?" Eleanor raises an eyebrow questioningly at the man sitting across from her, and he tries desperately to avoid her gaze.

"Totally," Jenny looks at her professor. "Didn't you tell her about the other day?" Sweeney merely glowers at her and Jenny takes the hint. "Well, I should probably get going. But I'll see you after lunch professor." Turning to Eleanor, she smiles warmly. "Maybe I'll see you next week?"

Eleanor nods, but the smile drops from her face when the girl is gone. She turns to Sweeney with a pout. "Scare off all my friends, you do. I wanted to 'ear that."

"If I wanted you to hear about it, I would have told you myself," Sweeney counters, and Eleanor makes a face into her salad.

"Sarah seems nice," she says slyly, just out of spite for him shooing Jenny away when the conversation was getting juicy. Her delight grows when she sees him flinch at the girl's name. "I think if she'd smiled any wider, 'er face woulda cracked."

He stabs a piece of chicken with a little too much vigor, but says nothing.

"She's pretty," Eleanor continues to bait him, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. "Seems to like you too, what with the way she tossed 'er 'air like that." She pauses thoughtfully. "I wonder if she knows you're not into brunettes?" The glare he shoots her way doesn't phase her and she smiles languidly. "No need to get worked up, love. Just makin' sure you know your options."

"College girls are not really my type Eleanor," he snarls, obviously tired of her teasing.

She is about to ask him what exactly _is _his type when the chair next to Eleanor is suddenly occupied once more, by a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He looks familiar, and the name Russell comes to mind but she isn't sure if it is a first or last name. "So this is the famous Twist and Shout lady," he says, ignoring his professor's glower as he holds out a hand.

Nellie ignores his outstretched hand and groans, putting her head in her palms. "There's no getting away from it," she says, looking at Sweeney through her fingers. He isn't looking at her though, he's still staring at his student with narrowed eyes, but the boy isn't paying him any mind.

Realizing that Eleanor is not proud of her internet fame, the boy tries to backtrack. "Oh, it's no big deal," he says. "We post stuff on Youtube all the time. I mean, just last week they posted a video of Tommy Hall jumping off the roof of the school with his skateboard. Most popular kid in school now." He grins. "We're all planning his Get Well party."

Eleanor chokes on a laugh.

"Or there was the guy who got drunk and streaked across campus in broad daylight," he continues. "Now _he _was a funny guy."

Nellie gasps, shoving the boy's shoulder in shock. "I saw that video! I 'ad no idea 'e went 'ere."

"Oh I've got a ton of these," he says, running a hand through his thick mane of hair and suddenly looking very nervous. "We should, uh, we should hang out sometime, I'll tell you a few."

Eleanor sees Sweeney freeze out of the corner of her eye, hand paused in mid-reach for his coffee cup. She shrugs. "Sure, that sounds fun."

"Sweet," he grins at her, and she sees something like relief flash across his features, which puzzles her. "What about tomorrow? I don't have class, we could get coffee or something."

"Um," Nellie hesitates. She'd been planning on spending her Saturday locked up in her apartment with Sweeney and Louie. But that would be like running from her problems, and she sure as hell doesn't want anyone to think she is hiding. "Why not?"

He holds out his hand again and this time Nellie takes it. "Kurtis Russell," he says.

"Oh, the pen thief," she laughs.

"Pen?" He looks confused before his eyes light up in comprehension and he reaches for the pen behind his ear. "Hey Jen!"

The blonde girl from a few tables away turns to look and Kurtis tosses her the pen, shooting her a thumbs up. She grins and goes back to her lunch. He turns back to Eleanor with a shrug. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

She nods and seconds later, Kurtis is gone. Nellie sighs, turning back to face Sweeney. "Such a sweet boy, that one." For the first time since Kurtis had come to their table, Eleanor looks directly at her friend, and finds his face stony and unreadable, eyes dark. It reminds her of the barber shop, and coming upstairs with his meals to find him sitting in his chair, expression stoic. He always looked right through her back then, never at her. She has a sudden flash of deja vu and shivers, bringing herself back to the present. "What's the matter, love?"

He merely shakes his head, dark hair falling over his eyes and she feels that ever present urge to reach up and tuck it back into place for him. She clenches her fists in her lap instead, watching him watch her. He mutters something along the lines of 'stupid bloody boy' but nothing else, and she lets it go at that. They finish their lunch without another word on his part. Eleanor does most of the talking, without getting much of a response from him. She leaves again for work without feeling much better than when she had walked into Sweeney's class.

She puzzles over his strange behavior for the remainder of the day, but in the end she doesn't have much time to contemplate it. There is an emergency heart transplant just when she is about to walk out the door at the end of the day, and when the surgery is over, it is four hours later. The sky is dark as she walks out to the curb and hails a cab to take her home, and Eleanor is exhausted.

When she walks through the door of the apartment, Louie greets her at the door, tail wagging at the return of his favorite person. Laughing, she bends down to pet him, letting him lick her cheek. She likes coming home to the dog every night, knowing that no matter what, someone will always be happy to see her.

Standing up from her kneeling position in the floor, Eleanor pushes her disheveled curls from her face and wanders toward her bedroom to change into something that doesn't involve scrubs, skirts, or high heels. She stops in the living room however, finding Sweeney asleep on the sofa, the glow of the television giving the otherwise dark room an eerie glow. He is clutching the remote in his hand, and the screen is playing a Cops rerun loudly.

Smiling gently, Nellie grabs the blanket draped over the back of the sofa and uses it to cover his prone form. Tugging the remote from his grasp, she turns off the television and just this once, she reaches out with a trembling hand, brushing away an errant lock of silky hair.

He stirs slightly in his sleep and she pulls her hand back quickly, holding it to her chest as if bitten. He doesn't wake up, and she quietly tiptoes from the room, blushing at her foolish actions.

_--_

On Saturday morning, Sweeney Todd wakes up on the sofa in the living room and he vaguely remembers getting sleepy during a repeat airing of Cops. Sitting up, he pushes away the blanket Eleanor must have covered him with and stretches lazily like a cat in the sun. The large windows behind him give him a perfect view of the city below, and he almost smiles at the scene before him. The morning is bleak, the sky overcast and gray. His favorite kind of weather.

A small part of him hopes it rains today, not just for his perverse pleasure, but because maybe Eleanor will cancel her little outing this afternoon. He frowns suddenly, standing up to shuffle to the kitchen for breakfast. He still can't believe that she agreed to go out with that buffoon. It had bothered him at first, but then he reminded himself that he doesn't care what Eleanor does, or who she sees. It doesn't matter to him one way or the other. He is completely indifferent.

But the way she had smiled at him! The _nerve _of that woman, grinning so openly at the boy just because he told her a few stories about his idiot friends and their internet videos! Sweeney has reassured her a hundred times over that it isn't a big deal and everyone will forget in time, but does she listen to him? Of course not. She listens to _Kurtis_ - the cynical rich kid with surfer hair. He suddenly pictures Eleanor toying with the surfer boy's hair and shudders, yanking a box of cereal from a cabinet. Fine. Let her go out with him, date him, sleep with him. See if Sweeney cares.

But the thing is, he suddenly realizes, dropping his spoon into his bowl, he does care. God help him, but he does. He doesn't know why, but the image of Eleanor with that _boy _makes him want to throw his currently soggy bowl of cereal at the wall. Sweeney doesn't have time to contemplate what this means before he hears faint footsteps sound from the hall, and Eleanor appears in the kitchen, already dressed for the day.

"Mornin' love," she smiles brightly, walking up to where he stands at the kitchen counter. She leans into him, reaching her arm across his chest to grab the cereal box and he stiffens noticeably. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, jabbing his spoon at a group of clustered cornflakes, and says nothing.

Eleanor frowns at his silence. "You know," she says softly. "You've been actin' awful strange since yesterday. Somethin' 'appen that I don't know about?"

"No," he says shortly, and his voice is a bit harsher than he'd intended, but he still doesn't look at her.

"You're grouchy," she states knowingly, and though he doesn't look, he can practically see her giving him that skeptical look of hers.

"So what?" He snaps. "I am a human being Eleanor, and a very old one at that. And as such, I am entitled to be "grouchy" every now and then. If it's going to be a problem for you, you are welcome to leave early for your date so you don't have to put up with it."

"You are worse than a bloody woman with PMS," she bites right back. "I never know what kind of mood you're going to be in." She puts down the box of cereal with more force than is necessary, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter instead. "Keep an eye on Louie, I'll be back in a few hours."

Sweeney doesn't look up until he hears the apartment door slam closed behind her, and he drops his spoon with a heavy sigh. He isn't sure why he'd snapped at her, he knows he is being childish. It isn't as if he's jealous. The day Sweeney Todd is jealous of a college boy is the day he dies of old age.

Still scoffing at such a notion, Sweeney throws out his breakfast and makes his way up to the loft to rifle through Eleanor's music collection. As he sorts through CDs, his thoughts continue to race and he is helpless to stop them.

It's shock, that's all. He is only shocked that Eleanor had agreed to go out with the _rat_. He had been sure she would turn the boy down, and when she hadn't, he'd been...surprised. He tries to push thoughts of Eleanor's love life out of his mind and focus on finding something suitable to listen to.

Patsy Cline? No, no country music. The last thing he needs is to be more depressed, and he has a feeling Crazy or Sweet Dreams might push him over the edge.

Dreams. That bloody dream. He still hasn't completely forgotten it, and when he goes to bed at night, he wonders if he will have the dream again, or at least one like it. But so far he has woken up with no memory of anything resembling the one he'd had a few nights ago. He isn't sure if he is relieved or disappointed.

Ray Charles? No, Sweeney likes him too much to associate him with such a confusing point in his life.

Definitely relieved, he decides. He is relieved that the dream hasn't occurred again, because it had been beyond disturbing to think of Eleanor that way.

The Beatles? No, too many bad memories.

He doesn't look at Eleanor like that, after all. She is a friend and it had taken over a hundred years to make him even admit it to himself. He does _not _want her - despite his very risque dream. He just...doesn't want anyone else to have her either. He ignores the part of his mind that tells him how twisted and illogical this is, and instead plucks a CD from the massive collection in front of him.

Metallica.

Sweeney falls back onto a comfortable chaise lounge and props up his feet. Closing his eyes, he lets the familiar opening guitar riff of _Enter Sandman _drown out his troubling thoughts.

_--_

Eleanor meets Kurtis at a coffee shop, still furious over Sweeney's petulant behavior. Sometimes she just wants to throttle the man. However, in the span of a few hours, Kurtis has made her forget her bad mood. They have had coffee and bagels, strolled through Central Park to feed the pigeons, and now they are browsing through an old bookshop. It is something Nellie has always wanted to do since moving to the city, but she has never taken the time for it until now. The store is an old second-hand shop, filled to the brim with books both new and old, and the musty scent of them lingers in the air like the smell of rain after a storm.

An old man behind the counter, dressed as though he has come straight from 1930 in his trousers, vest and hat, sits on an rickety stool behind the counter, dusting off the ancient cash register. He keeps one spectacled eye on Eleanor and her companion, as though waiting for the two to start stuffing books in their clothes.

The place has a friendly feel to it though, and Eleanor wants to just curl up inside it and never leave. As she flips through a sketchbook filled with pictures of Japanese landscapes, Nellie decides that she has to start spending more time with friends. She has had a good time today and she thinks tomorrow she'll invite Carol to dinner somewhere, just the two of them. Especially if Sweeney is going to continue acting like his former, brooding self. Or in more comprehensible terms, a complete ass. His behavior is still confusing her. She can't figure out what has caused his sudden change in attitude. One moment they are bickering amiably and the next he is barely speaking to her. Eleanor finds the whole situation completely baffling, but now that she has calmed down considerably, she resolves to go home after her outing with Kurtis to try to get the bottom of this mystery.

When she finds a copy of the bedtime story Goodnight Moon, she giggles and waves Kurtis over. He puts down his book and jogs over, grinning. "Remember this one?" She asks, holding it up for him to read the cover.

He laughs. "Oh man. My mom used to read that to me." He takes it from her and opens to the publishing information on the first page. "This is a reprint from the eighties. I was just a kid."

Eleanor frowns, snatching the book from him good naturedly. "Now I feel old."

"Sorry," he says, still laughing. As Eleanor begins searching the shelves again for something interesting to leaf through, Kurtis watches, following behind her. "You know, this is the most fun I've had on a date in a while."

"I'm 'avin' a good time too - " Freezing right in the middle of scanning a book of sonnets and plays, Eleanor slowly turns to look at the boy. "Did you say date?" She asks, her voice quiet. He nods, and suddenly she understands everything. He had been asking her on a date yesterday and she'd been completely oblivious. "Oh dear, I-I 'ad no idea this was a date, I thought we were just - "

"Oh geez," Kurtis looks mortified, turning his back to her with a hand over his face.

"I thought we were just going out as, y'know, friends," Nellie finishes, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Kurtis chuckles, still not looking at her. "Dude. I really screwed up."

"No, it's not your fault, dear," she walks around to face him since he refuses to turn around, and she feels her heart go out to him when she sees the blush on his cheeks. "I should 'ave known. I'm just so bloody clueless sometimes."

He sighs. "So...is there even a possibility of a date in the future?"

Eleanor shakes her head sadly, patting his arm. "You're a nice guy, but I'm a bit old for you, lad. Feel like I was datin' my son, I would."

This doesn't help the blush tinting his cheeks pink, and he nods. "I get it, it's-it's cool."

"We can still go to the museum after this if you want," Eleanor offers, hating that she'd led the poor boy on without meaning to.

"Nah," he says with a sigh. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day."

Nellie gives him a sympathetic smile. "You want to get out of 'ere, then?"

"Only if you're ready," Kurtis gestures to the heavy book she's still holding.

She looks down as if she has just noticed it. "Oh right. I'll go pay for this."

Kurtis reaches out and takes it from her with a sheepish smile. "I'll pay for it. It's the least I can do." He starts to walk away but stops suddenly and turns around to face her, expression somewhere between curiosity and comprehension. "The professor...you're into him, aren't you?"

Eleanor blinks in surprise. She opens her mouth once, then twice, only to close it, unable to find her voice. Kurtis seems to understand anyway and he nods, walking up to the counter pay for the book. Nellie is hardly paying attention, lost in her own world. His suggestion is completely absurd, but he'd made her realize something she hadn't before. Sweeney. Of course. It all makes sense. Sweeney knows this had been a date, and he thinks she actually wants to go out with one of his students!

His earlier words come back to her now, _"You are welcome to leave early for your date so you don't have to put up with it." _She'd been so angry with him that she hadn't paid much attention to the simple word, but now she understands. The reason for his actions in the past day or so are suddenly crystal clear, and Eleanor feels badly for being so clueless. Another thought hits her then and she nearly loses her balance at the possibility. _Is he jealous?_ No, of course not. Sweeney Todd does get jealous. Still...what other explanation can there be?

As she walks home alone a few minutes later, clutching her new novel in her hand, Eleanor determines that Sweeney must be jealous. It doesn't mean much to her though, because men are just like that. They may not want something but that certainly doesn't mean anyone else can have it. "Selfish creatures, they are," she mutters to herself in the elevator. "Like bloody children and their toys." She is most certainly not anyone's toy, least of all his.

When she walks into the apartment, Nellie finds her friend sitting on the sofa, watching infomercials, with Louie sitting on the floor and staring at him. Sweeney looks up when she walks into the room, the bored expression never leaving his face. "I am not a toy," she says.

He looks at her strangely, but decides to play along. "Of course you aren't, pet." She nods at his mechanical response, feeling better now that she has said it out loud. She walks to him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. Louie immediately hops into her lap, resting his floppy-eared head on her knee. "Did you enjoy your _date_?" Sweeney asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

Eleanor smiles to herself and looks down at the thick volume in her hand, suddenly remembering why had picked it up in the first place. She waves it under his nose, offering it to him. "I know you read 'is stuff. Take it."

He does, scrutinizing the cover. "The complete works of William Shakespeare." His face shows his total surprise, and she smiles as she watches the way his eyes light up in childlike pleasure. It is almost as if a spell has been cast over him, she has never seen that look in his eyes before. She finds it bewitching. "This is a first edition. I've been looking for this, it's supposed to be out of print."

"I know," she says, sounding proud of herself. "Found it buried under a bunch of Emily Dickinson poetry."

"Thank you," he whispers, fingers running over the worn spine of the book reverently.

It is the first time he has ever thanked her for anything, and for a moment, Eleanor is dumbfounded. "Y-you're welcome," she says finally, hating how soft her voice sounds.

Sweeney looks it over for another minute, his face showing his appreciation, and then he glances over at her. She can't help but notice that his eyes no longer hold that light of awe."You didn't answer my question."

She sighs heavily and the spell is broken. "College boys aren't really my type, love," she repeats his words from yesterday almost word for word.

"Really?" He asks. His voice sounds uninterested, but she knows better now.

"Yes," she leans back against the sofa cushions. Their eyes lock then, and she doesn't try to look away, letting him see that she has nothing to hide. He nods silently, seemingly pacified, but she knows him enough to know that he is still pouting that she'd even gone in the first place. Scratching Louie behind the ears, Eleanor looks over at Sweeney. "Wanna watch Rambo?"

With that one question, she puts an end to his sulking. He shrugs, but she can tell he is weakening. Giving him the volume of Shakespearean works and letting him watch one of his favorite movies? The man doesn't stand a chance at staying angry with her. "If you want," he says, and she smiles knowingly.

By the middle of the movie, he seems to have forgotten about the whole thing, eyes glued to the screen, but Eleanor studies the painting hanging over the television instead, finding it endlessly fascinating compared to what they are currently watching.

"Ugh," she says when she looks again and sees an attractive woman in a tank top running across the screen. "This is such a man movie. Would it kill 'er to wear a bra of some sort?"

Sweeney looks over at her, tearing his eyes away from the gore on the television. "If I recall correctly, there was a time in your life when undergarments were restricting your femininity and had to be burned in a trash can." He glances back at the television, unable to look away for too long. "Isn't that what you and your fellow feminists did in your spare time?"

She glares at him. "It just so 'appens that no such thing occurred, Professor Todd. Get your 'istory straight. Women did not burn their bras, that rumor was started after a bunch of protestin' women at a Beauty pageant threw their bras in a trash can." She squints, as if trying to remember. "Back in...1968, I believe."

He stares. "Why are you not teaching your own class? You have the memory of an elephant, Eleanor." She merely reaches over to steal some of the popcorn out of his bowl, stuffing a handful into her mouth. "Always such class, pet," he mutters.

Eleanor grins at him through a mouthful of salted popcorn, happy to have her friend back. She likes him better when he's brooding and talking to her, rather than brooding and ignoring her. When he doesn't talk to her, it reminds her too much of a time in her life she would rather forget.

The situation with Kurtis does not change anything between them. They still bicker like children, cohabitate like a married couple, and tease like old friends. But occasionally, Eleanor will remember Kurtis, and the way Sweeney sulked like a scorned lover. In these times, she will only smile at him, like she knows something he doesn't.

_--_

_Fate only takes you so far, the rest is up to you_...

Urd cannot hold back a huge sigh of relief when Todd and Lovett go to bed that night on good terms once again. "That was a little too close for comfort," she says. "Imagine, the two of them getting so worked up over a college boy."

"Well at least we know now that Todd is the jealous type," Skuld reasons, but she can't keep the relief out of her own voice. It had been a close call, and she'd found herself once again rooting for this unreasonably stubborn couple.

"Or he is merely selfish," Verdandi lightly runs her finger over a shining silver thread. "Just like Lovett said. A little boy stingy with his possessions."

Urd shrugs carelessly. "Either one is an improvement over cold indifference."

"True," Verdandi concedes. "But what next?"

"What about a nice power outage in Manhattan?" Skuld asks excitedly. "A lot can happen when they are alone in the dark for hours."

Verdandi casually plucks a thread, watching it wobble and bounce back into place. "Or perhaps bring in another woman. Although that could result in some sort of cat fight if Lovett is terribly possessive."

"How delicious," Skuld cackles. "Lovett _does _seem like a hair puller."

"No," Urd shakes her head firmly. "None of that."

"Then what?" Skuld looks eager to move along with their plans.

Urd watches the two mortals sleeping in their separate bedrooms and sighs, her heart aching for them. If only they would stop being so hardheaded - they would be so happy together, she knows it. "I think we should leave them alone for now."

Verdandi frowns. "Alone?"

"Are you sure you can trust them not to kill each other?" Skuld asks, bemused.

Urd waves her away. "You know very well that death is impossible until those three little words are said. They have a whole summer ahead of them. Let's just...sit back and see what happens."

* * *

A/N-Hey guys! Let it be known that this chapter gave me a huge headache, so make it all worth it and leave me a review! By the way, thanks for all the encouragement on the previous chapter, I really appreciate all of the wonderful feedback I've been getting;) Props to Bellatrix5982, who mentioned Kurt hitting on Nellie. I found it an incredibly amusing image, and I had to use it.LOL


	11. Summer Lovin'

Passing Strange

Things seem to settle down in the Todd-Lovett household for a while, and Sweeney Todd can't help but notice the considerable calm that now reigns supreme. To be honest, he finds the sudden lack of excitement a rather boring way to spend the summer months. The good thing about a teaching job, is that when your students are off for the summer, so are you. Except, Sweeney is slowly discovering, this can also be a bad thing. Eleanor works her regular shifts at the hospital, and he is left to find his own entertainment, day in and day out for three whole months.

One sweltering summer day in the middle of June, Sweeney has exhausted all possibilities of amusement, and he sits on the floor in the middle of the living room, a chess set in front of him. "Ah," he says knowingly. "Nice move, old man. But..." He picks up his black piece and moves it expertly to capture his opponent's King. "Checkmate." He snatches the piece up and looks down on his companion with satisfaction.

Louie looks up with sad puppy dog eyes from his spot across from the professor, chin on his front paws, and makes a small whining noise. He moves his paw up and takes a swipe at one of the chess pieces. Sweeney tuts in disapproval. "No need to be a sore loser."

The dog merely stares at him, and Sweeney sighs. He has no classes to teach and most of his time has been spent at home with the mutt. They have formed a strange sort of bond, and Sweeney has a feeling that at least for the summer, while they are forced to put up with one another, there is a tentative truce between them.

In the span of three weeks, he has alphabetized Eleanor's music collection, including the CD's in the loft, and the vinyl records in her bedroom. Then he'd moved on to the books, reading the romance novels before alphabetizing, of course, after which he'd proceeded to the DVD collection. He has also developed an addiction for Judge Judy, despite his complete lack of respect for the judicial system. And then he'd thrown marshmallows up at the ceiling in the kitchen, to watch them stick, which had been a good way to pass the time, but one of them didn't fall from the ceiling until Eleanor had come home. It had landed in her hair and she'd been so furious that he hadn't dared to try it again. In summary, Sweeney has spent three weeks being so completely bored out of his skull that he resorts to playing chess with the dog.

Of course, all of that changes the second Eleanor walks through the door every day. She comes in and starts prattling away as she slips off her high heels. It annoys him that his day doesn't officially start until she comes home. What had he done for entertainment all those years living alone? He can't remember, try as he might. Sweeney is cleaning up the chess pieces, snatching one from Louie as he begins knawing on it, when Eleanor breezes into the apartment.

" 'Ello, dear," she calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hall to her bedroom. "Lemme get out of this skirt and we can do somethin'."

He has never mentioned to her how bored he gets, but she always comes home from work ready to entertain him, ever since that marshmallow incident. She somehow manages to get him out of the apartment for a couple of hours every day. They've gone to the movies, gone out to dinner, browsed through the nearest book store, and even gone grocery shopping together. Sweeney will never admit it, but he enjoys these little excursions, mostly because they save his sanity. Today, when Eleanor walks out of her bedroom in jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and sneakers, he raises his eyebrows questioningly.

She smiles, in the process of pulling up her mass of red curls to rest on top of her head in sloppy bun. "Thought we might 'ead to the park today," she says. "Maybe get in of those lil' boats or somethin'. Fresh air'll do ya good, love."

He highly doubts this, but despite his protests the whole walk to the park, he ends up sitting in a little boat, rowing them out into the water. The Central Park lake is positively picturesque, and from his spot inside the row boat, Sweeney can see the tall trees surrounding the park shading the well-kept grass, the greenest in the city. The outline of several expansive buildings loom over the treetops, gray and cold looking compared to the warmth of mother nature inside the park.

Across from him, Eleanor sits leaning against the side of the boat, holding herself up with her right elbow and trailing her left hand along the water as he rows them further from the shoreline. The silence between them is comfortable. Since Eleanor seems to have no intention of breaking it, too intent upon staring fixedly into the water, Sweeney decides to enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

For a while, the only sound is the splashing of the water against the oars, until they reach Bow Bridge. It is Eleanor's favorite spot in all of Central Park, and looking at it now, in the dim evening light, he can understand why. The cast iron bridge extends over the lake, and it gleams now in the setting sun, a perfect perch from which to watch the row boats gliding across the water. It is surrounded by trees, a magical spot away from all of the other park attractions. Breathing in the warm summer air, Sweeney can honestly say he is glad Eleanor has dragged him here.

The stillness of the moment is broken however, when Eleanor gasps suddenly, jerking her arm further out of the boat, as if reaching for something. The boat begins to rock with the sudden movement. "My bracelet slipped off," she says, and he stops rowing to watch her squint into the water. "Bloody 'ell." She leans further out over the edge of the boat, and Sweeney grows a little concerned when the boat tilts dangerously. Eleanor isn't paying it any mind, arm submerged in water up past her elbow, feeling around wildly and muttering to herself.

"You're not going to find it, Eleanor, it's gone. Now lean back over here before you - " The row boat suddenly tips over, sending Sweeney and Eleanor toppling into the cool water. Sweeney surfaces first, gasping for breath, blinking water furiously from his eyes. Eleanor pops out of the water next to him, coughing and spluttering.

"Damn it woman," he growls. His dark hair is adhered to the sides of his face and he shoves it back angrily, glaring at the woman floating next to him. "I told you you hadn't a chance in hell finding that infernal bracelet!"

She looks at him, breathing heavily, damp ringlets beginning to form around her face, eye makeup thoroughly smudged. "I've 'ad it for 85 years, I couldn't just let it sink to the bottom of the bloody lake!"

"Well the only thing you succeeded in doing is getting us both completely drenched," he says testily, looking down at his shirt sticking to his skin.

Bringing her arm up out of the water, Eleanor holds out her hand to him and opens her palm, revealing the bracelet that had slipped from her wrist and into the murky lake water. He looks at her disbelievingly. She must find his expression incredibly amusing because she begins laughing, and soon tears prick the corners of her eyes.

"What, may I ask, is so funny?" He asks, gritting his teeth.

Eleanor, still laughing, shakes her head and clutches her bracelet to her chest, struggling to breathe. "I'm sorry," she spits out between sucking in large gulps of air. "But the way you looked! Eyes were like saucers, they were."

He scowls at her, watching her try to stay afloat amidst her fit of uncontrollable laughter. "I wouldn't be laughing, if I were you, Eleanor. You look like a drowned rat."

This only makes her laugh harder, and he seethes inwardly at her ability to find humor in almost anything. She swims over to him when she sees the expression on his face, trying to quiet her giggles. She stops right in front of him, curls plastered to her head, water clinging to her eyelashes, and smiles at him. He only stares, eyeing her suspiciously as she reaches up with one pale hand to trail her fingers along his clenched jaw in what feels suspiciously like a caress.

Sweeney looks stunned, but Eleanor only continues to smile at him, looking like some kind of water nymph as they float under the Bow Bridge. "Don't be so serious love," she says softly. "Got to 'ave some fun once in a while, or you'll go barkin' mad."

_Like before._ He can hear the words she doesn't say, can see it in her eyes. "This is your idea of fun?" He tries to sneer at her but fails miserably, too distracted by the touch of her cool fingers against his jaw.

She merely looks at him, brown eyes smiling. And then suddenly she's gone, already swimming several feet ahead of him in the blink of an eye. "Race ya to the boat!"

Sweeney shakes off the feeling of loss that comes over him now that her hand is gone from his face, and never one to back down from a challenge, starts off after her.

_--_

July comes swiftly, and in much the same manner that June had. The city is hazy with heat, the asphalt so hot that Sweeney actually watches from their apartment window as a group of children crack an egg on the sidewalk to watch it sizzle.

On the Fourth of July, Manhattan is filled to the brim with people, and the duo find it in their best interest to stay away from the rabid crowds as much as possible. They spend Independence Day on the roof of their apartment building, sitting on a blanket and drinking bottles of cheap beer from the corner market.

The fireworks going off above their heads in spectacular displays of reds, blues, greens and purples fill the companionable silence between them. When Eleanor falls asleep against his shoulder and he has to carry her down three flights of stairs to their apartment, he finds that he doesn't mind so much. He even manages a smile when she starts to snore into his shirt.

They go to a baseball game at Yankee Stadium the following week. He can't help but stare at her when she walks out of her bedroom in a black baseball hat. She looks like a little tomboy with her red hair pulled up under the cap, but a few wisps have managed to escape their prison to frame her face instead. She walks up to where he sits on the sofa, holding out a similar hat to him.

Sweeney simply looks at her skeptically. "You don't honestly expect me to put that on, do you?"

She gapes at him. "We're goin' to a baseball game. You 'ave to wear a baseball hat, it's an unwritten rule."

"I'm not wearing a hat, Eleanor," he says, staring at it in her outstretched hand with his mouth twisted in disgust.

Eleanor sighs. "Bloody killjoy." She stuffs it into the back pocket of her jeans, letting the bill of the hat stick out, as if she thinks she can convince him to put it on eventually. Sweeney shakes his head, she underestimates his stubbornness.

Baseball is not a sport Sweeney Todd cares about, he much prefers something with bloodshed, but Eleanor had been adamant about going. _'A baseball game is a lot like church dearie, everyone should go at least once to see what all the fuss is about.'_

In the middle of the fifth inning, Eleanor catches a wayward baseball using the cap he'd refused to put on. As all of the men around her groan about a woman catching the ball, Eleanor looks at Sweeney with sinfully delighted grin, bouncing contentedly on the balls of her feet. Tossing the baseball into his lap, she says, "It's yours. Wouldn't of caught it if it weren't for you bein' stubborn as a mule."

When they're in the middle of the ninth inning, and practically everyone in the stadium is on their feet, including Eleanor, Sweeney sits back and watches with interest at how worked up everyone gets over a silly game. As a player goes up to bat, Eleanor and the man sitting in front of Sweeney shout at the same time, "C'mon Duncan!"

They turn to look at each other, smiling. Sweeney is trying to ignore the urge to kick the back of the man's chair when a middle-aged man with a beer belly and a large foam finger sitting behind Eleanor says, "He's gotta hit a home run to win this. There's no way he can do it."

Eleanor turns to glare at him, adjusting her baseball cap stubbornly. "Would you like to make a lil' wager, sir?" They shake hands on it, and Eleanor turns to Sweeney, muttering, "I may need to borrow fifty bucks in a minute, dear."

He rolls his eyes, but she isn't watching him, too intent on the game. The pitcher winds up and throws the ball, but it's too high and deemed a wild pitch. He throws again. Too high. The crowd is getting restless, and when the pitcher again throws the ball too high, they start jeering and yelling insults.

Eleanor forms her hands around her mouth and shouts, " 'Ey, get 'im a bucket, e's throwin' up!"

The man in front of Sweeney laughs, turning to face Eleanor again with a boyish smile. "That was good, never heard that one before."

As Eleanor blushes and the two exchange a few more words before turning back to the game, Sweeney spends his time staring at the ground, littered with paper cups and popcorn, gripping the arm of his seat.

The pitcher throws the ball again, this time with all his might, and Duncan swings the bat. A loud crack echoes through the stadium, followed by overjoyed shouts as the announcer calls, "It's a home run!" Duncan begins jogging to first, second, then third base before sliding home, amidst the cheers of the crowd. Eleanor turns to Sweeney grinning.

"Won't need that fifty bucks," she says, squeezing his hand where it sits on the arm rest. Before he can respond, she lets go of his hand and turns to the man behind her with an open palm. "Cough it up, Doubtin' Thomas."

Sweeney almost smiles. The spectacle of Eleanor taking a stranger's money is reason enough to rejoice that he'd come at all. When she has pocketed the money, Eleanor faces him, holding out her hand. "Come on, I want to buy one of those big slushy things 'fore we leave."

Normally, he would have refused to take the proffered hand, but the man with the boyish smile she'd conversed with earlier is watching, holding a napkin with a phone number hastily scribbled on it, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Eleanor hasn't noticed him hovering yet, and without thinking, Sweeney takes her hand, stands up, and ushers her away, ignoring her surprised expression.

As they are walking out the stadium, Eleanor slurping some kind of iced drink, she says around her straw, " 'M sorry I dragged you 'ere, love. Thought you'd 'ave more fun than ya did."

Fiddling with the baseball she had given to him, Sweeney thinks of the man with the napkin number and shakes his head. "It's fine." Eleanor takes his arm in hers, and nothing more is said of the game.

_--_

At the end of August, a sudden blackout leaves the city without power for two hours, due to some sort of combination of computer and power generator failures. Eleanor lights a few candles in the living room, and they sit on the sofa, staring into inky blackness silently for an hour. So far, Eleanor has been content to lounge against his side listening to Elvis Presley on her ipod, legs thrown over the arm of the couch, but he knows the quiet won't last much longer.

As if reading his thoughts, Eleanor shifts against him, sitting up. Then, in the darkness, he hears a woeful sigh. He rolls his eyes and glances over at her. She sits next to him, knees drawn up to her chest, perspiration beginning to form on her forehead from the humidity and the lack of air conditioning. "What?" He asks, dreading the answer.

"I'm bored." She says sullenly, frowning at the floor.

"What happened to Elvis?"

She stares at her headphones as if holding them responsible for her ennui. "Only so many times you can listen to Only Fools Rush In before you go bloody mad."

"Then find something else to listen to," he says with a touch of aggravation. "You've got over 2000 songs on that damn thing. You can't possible tell me you've listened to them all."

"Oh come on love,"she wheedles, turning to look at him. "There must be somethin' else we can do."

Resisting the urge to sigh because it will only irritate her, Sweeney looks away, at Louie lying on the floor, fast asleep on his back. "There's no electricity, pet. What do you propose?"

Minutes later, at Eleanor's coaxing, Sweeney finds himself playing a game of Speed at the table in the dining room, amid the glow of candles.

Putting down her last card, an Ace of Spades, Eleanor lets out a triumphant laugh. "Speed! I win again."

Sweeney makes a disgruntled noise low in his throat and tosses his remaining five cards onto the table. "You're cheating."

Eleanor gapes at him. "It's Speed you daft man. 'Ow am I cheatin'?"

"I don't know," he snaps. "But knowing you, you'd find a way."

She glares at him. "Would you rather I let you win? Would that make you feel more like a man, dear?" Her voice is sickeningly sweet, but he can detect the poison in her words.

"I will win on my own, thank you," he snatches up the cards to shuffle and deal them again, still glowering at her. Her expression of exasperation is evident even in the dim light of the candles lining the dining room table, but he ignores it, focusing his attention on expertly shuffling the deck.

Eleanor puts her chin in her palm, watching him. "This is kind of...nice," she says, eyes roaming about the room. The candlelight gives the room an eerie glow that otherwise is never present, and it casts peculiar shadows on her face as she looks at him.

He deals her two stacks of cards, one of fifteen, the other of five. "You call sitting in the dark without air conditioning or electricity '_nice_'?"

She picks up the stack of five. "I mean, just sittin' 'ere, all quiet like. Reminds of the old days, it does. Before the television, the radio, the telephone. I'd almost forgotten what it's like. 'Ad to find ways to entertain yourself then."

"You sound like an old woman reminiscing," He says with a smirk, just because he enjoys goading her.

"I _am _an old woman," she answers with a sigh.

The game commences, and she lets the subject go. He knows what she means, and he misses it too. Those simpler days when things weren't so busy, when card games, chess and reading were the sole cures for boredom. A part of him misses the times in his life when brooding was so much easier to do, without the television drowning out his morbid thoughts. But Sweeney doesn't voice any of this. For one thing, he is too focused on making sure she does not win again, and for another, he doesn't want to see that look on her face, that look that means she'd already known what he was going to say before he said it. She has always been able to see right through him, and he has never ceased to find it very unsettling.

An hour passes, and Sweeney finds himself starting to enjoy playing cards with Eleanor. It reminds him of their bizarre weekend in Atlantic City, sitting at the tables, drinking and playing blackjack well into the night. But during a game of poker in which Sweeney bets an entire week of making breakfast, the lights suddenly flicker on, bathing everything in the glow of light bulbs once again. Sweeney can't help but notice the look of disappointment on Eleanor's face that she quickly covers with a smile.

"Well, I s'pose we should be off to bed, eh, love?" She moves to stand up and blow out the candles, but he rises first, walking to the light switch next to the dining room entrance.

"Not so fast, pet," he says, flipping the switch and leaving them in candlelight once again. "We have a game to finish. I am not about to get up and make breakfast tomorrow morning."

Eleanor beams at him. "Well dearie, you'd better get used to the idea, because you're gonna lose. I see you your week an' raise you two." She looks at him expectantly. "And the breakfast is picked by the winner, so no throwin' some Poptarts on the table and callin' it a meal."

He grins, deciding to up the ante. "Two weeks _and _making lunch on weekends."

Gazing at her cards with a calculating eye, Eleanor bites her bottom lip between her teeth. "We 'ave a deal, professor."

When they finally retire for the night, Sweeney is set to make breakfast for two weeks, and lunch on Saturdays and Sundays. Eleanor, he has discovered, has a wonderful poker face. Even with the undesirable thought of waking up so early to make chocolate chip pancakes, he still manages to fall into bed with a rarely seen, but relatively small smile on his face.

_--_

_School starts back up tomorrow._ He keeps telling himself this to preserve his slowly fading sanity. The thought of lecturing and frightening his students cheers up Sweeney Todd's under-worked mind, and he spends most of his morning pacing through the apartment in anticipation before it gets too hot to move much at all.

The beginning of September is just as stifling as August, and unlike Eleanor, he is more tolerant of the humid air. He stands at the open window of the apartment, having refused to give in and turn on the air conditioning. He has been doing this a lot lately, standing at the window. It reminds him of Fleet Street, pacing the shop, staring out the window, plagued by his demons. He doesn't like to think of Fleet Street though, so he turns his eyes to the neighboring apartment building instead.

In the weeks previous, Sweeney has discovered the joys of spying on one's neighbors. He hadn't realized how odd they are. They each have their own quirks, their own offbeat little patterns they follow from day to day, without even realizing it.

Take for instance, the Gordon couple. Mrs. Gordon wakes up twenty minutes before her husband, makes breakfast in her robe, and while looking around to make sure her husband is still in bed, spikes her orange juice with vodka from a flask she keeps up her sleeve. Mrs. Gordon is a closet alcoholic, but she is also a terrible cook, because when she isn't looking, her husband scrapes his breakfast into a napkin and throws it away.

Or what about Eliza Martin three floors up, who is having an affair with her limo driver? He comes up every afternoon, after her husband goes to work. Or the twin toddlers who flush dollar bills from their father's wallet down the toilet? Then there is old Mrs. Stewart, who talks to her cats and plays her late husband's jazz records for hours on end. And he can't forget the college kids on the second floor who bake marijuana in their oven for extra money.

These things happens every day like clockwork, and Sweeney wonders if these people realize how pitiful and meaningless their lives are. He also wonders if anyone is watching him, and thinking the same thing.

Eleanor comes home for her lunch break, but instead of high heels, she is still dressed in her scrubs and tennis shoes, so he doesn't hear the light patter of her feet walking toward him. When she is standing just behind him and says, "What're you doin', love?", he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Good God, woman!" He says breathlessly, visibly shaken. "Don't _do _that!"

She smothers a wide grin. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten ya." He highly doubts she is at all apologetic, but trying to retain his dignity, he only glares until she gestures to the binoculars in his hand. "What are those for?"

Quickly bringing them around to hide them behind his back, Sweeney tries to look indifferent. "Nothing. Birdwatching."

"Birdwatchin'?" She looks skeptical.

He sighs, knowing she will not leave him alone until she gets the truth out of him. "People watching, then."

Eleanor's eyes widen and she whacks him on the arm. "You're spyin' on people?"

"I...get bored," he says uncomfortably, embarrassed that he has been caught.

"So you're peekin' in on people who actually _have _lives?" She asks, looking incredulous.

"Then you wouldn't like to know about Eliza Martin's affair?" He asks with feigned innocence.

Gasping audibly, Eleanor smacks him again.

"Insufferable woman!" He gripes, swatting at her. "I would appreciate it if you would stop your abuse on my person."

She pats his arm as an apology. "Eliza's havin' an affair?"

"With her limo driver," Sweeney says matter-of-factly, still pouting as he hands her the binoculars. "Right now."

She takes them without hesitation, rushing to the window. "Bloody 'ell," she murmurs, entranced. "You'd think they'd close the curtains. I knew she'd gotten a boob job. 'Er 'usband's a plastic surgeon, y'know."

Sweeney makes a face, looking disgusted. "Keep your charming observations to yourself, Eleanor." She shrugs, scanning the apartment building across the alley for anyone else, still looking through the binoculars. "I thought you didn't approve of spying?" He looks amused at her fascination.

"I don't. Spyin' is very bad an' it's goin' to get you into trouble. Remember that." She doesn't move from the window, and her warning is rendered hypocritical and therefore meaningless. "So is _this _what you do all day?"

"No," he says indignantly. "I also let Kurtis come over to look through your underwear drawer between 2 and 3:30."

"Bastard," she mutters, smiling.

Her back is still turned to the window, and Sweeney watches her take over his little game of spying on unsuspecting civilians. She looks the perfect picture of a doctor, red hair pulled back, blue scrubs spotless, even a white surgeons mask still hanging around her neck. "Shouldn't you be eating lunch?"

"In a minute," she says distractedly, never turning to face him. She gasps suddenly. "Are they bakin' _weed_?"

"They have a business," Sweeney basks in the glow of knowing things she does not. "Quite a good one from the looks of that flat screen television."

Eleanor shakes her head in shock. "Scandalous."

Sweeney raises his eyebrows. "Like you never smoked pot. I recall you being high as a kite when you nearly gave us away to your hippie friends."

Eleanor throws up her hands in a fit of exasperation and he uses her distracted state to his advantage, swiping the binoculars from her and slipping past her to look out the large window again. "Oh it was the sixties. Let it go."

He has found that Eleanor has an excuse for all of her past discretions. '_Oh it was the 1800's. Oh it was the thirties_.' And her latest excuse, the sixties.

"I may 'ave smoked pot," she continues, and he realizes she is right beside him, talking lowly into his ear. He stamps down the very strong urge to shiver. "But at least I didn't fall victim to the parachute pants trend." He sees her give him a pointed look out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh it was the eighties," he snaps defensively.

Eleanor laughs, her hand on his arm as she peers over his shoulder. She is still dangerously close, and he tries not to visibly stiffen beneath her touch. There is nothing to be uncomfortable about after all, it's only Eleanor. It has always been her mission in life to touch him as many times as she can. Why should he suddenly care now? There is no reason his heart rate should be speeding up the way it is, or that his breathing should suddenly quicken like this. It is _only _Eleanor. He repeats this to himself until she breaks his inner mantra.

"This is fascinatin'," she breathes. "Like a soap opera without the bad actin'." She watches Eliza's limo driver leave the bedroom and come back with two flutes of champagne. "Detestable woman. Always knew she 'ad issues." She smiles into his shoulder. "If you ask me, she's one Budweiser away from a six pack." Eleanor twirls her finger next to her temple, the international sign for crazy.

Before Sweeney can respond, the most curious thing occurs. One of the college boys, who had just closed the oven after checking on the weed, looks out the window and directly at Sweeney and Eleanor, as if sensing that he is being watched. His mouth widens and he points wordlessly.

They've been found out.

Eleanor lets out a small squeak as Sweeney ducks and grabs her sleeve, pulling her with him to the floor. She lands forcefully on his broad chest, giggling at having been caught playing Spy. When she realizes how close she is to her friend, she sobers instantly, the smile vanishing from her lips. Their faces are mere inches apartment, and one unyielding auburn curl brushes his cheek teasingly.

She seems to notice at the same time he does that he is gripping her waist, and her eyes widen marginally, drifting from staring at a spot on his shirt up to his curiously blank face. Brown eyes meet brown eyes, and they both nearly stop breathing, afraid to move or even speak for fear of losing whatever is passing between them in this moment. Sweeney isn't sure which of them leans forward first, but when he feels her breath against his lips, he doesn't move.

Their mouths are just centimeters from touching, so close that Sweeney is already imaging what her lips will feel like on his, when out of nowhere, Eleanor's pager goes off, signaling a need for her at the hospital. It beeps loudly in their ears, filling the awkward silence. The moment is lost, and Sweeney blinks, breaking eye contact.

Eleanor clears her throat, gingerly lifting herself to her feet and taking a few steps back. "Well," she says, her voice tentative. If he'd been looking, he would have seen her blushing furiously. "That's my cue. I'll...I'll see you later, dear."

He nods, too angry with himself over what had almost happened to even look at her. She stands there for another moment, almost as if she wants to say something or she is waiting for him to, but she finally leaves him sitting on the floor, shutting the apartment door softly behind her.

Staring at the binoculars lying forgotten next to him, Sweeney Todd doesn't move. The thoughts in his head race about like buzzing flies, their loud rumblings mixing together to create one very confused professor. But a one particular thought is prevalent over all of the others. _Eleanor was right. Spying is very, very bad. _

_--_

_The heart is its own fate..._

When one gets very close to having something that is longed for, only to have it cruelly snatched away at the last possible second, it is a devastating blow to the spirit. Some respond with tears, some are optimistic that things will look up eventually, others are despondent. In some cases, they respond with anger. They shout to make themselves heard, they throw things to vent their anger, they pout to make others pity them and then they stand up, square their shoulders, and push on. When faced with a difficult situation, it seems Urd falls into the latter group.

"So close!" She shouts, outraged. "Whose idea was it to make a beeper go off?!"

Skuld rolls her eyes. "We aren't doing _anything _right now, remember? We're sitting back and seeing what happens."

"Whose idea was that?" Urd snaps, looking mournfully at Sweeney Todd, sitting on the floor with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Yours," Skuld and Verdandi say in unison.

Urd looks surprised, as if she'd forgotten, and then she sighs, putting her face in her hands with an anguished, over dramatic cry. She twists her skirts into her fists until her knuckles are white, brow puckered.

"It's never going to happen, is it?" Verdandi sighs, and even she sounds depressed.

"Don't be foolish," Skuld feels very out of place trying to cheer up her sisters, but she presses on nonetheless. "They've made some progress all on their own. We haven't done a thing in three months and look at them. They nearly kissed!"

"_Nearly _kissed," Urd looks up from her personal pity party to put in her pessimistic two cents. "Nearly. That means almost, but did not." She sniffs, sitting up a little straighter. "And don't tell me we haven't done a thing. Did you think I didn't notice that little power outage, Skuld?"

Skuld looks indignant, hands planted firmly on her hips. "I had nothing to do with that power outage! It was a coincidence."

"Honestly sister," Verdandi scolds her. "Coincidence? In our line of work? You should know better. Shameful."

Instead of arguing endlessly about it, Skuld ignores her. "The point is, they've grown closer. Now is the time to get back in this."

"Well," Urd says after a moment of silence. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give them a good push in the right direction. They're closer to mortality than they've ever been."

Skuld brightens at the newfound hope in her sister's voice. "That's the spirit! Now, what shall we do?"

Before Urd can formulate a plan, Verdandi holds up a hand timidly. "Um, I may have an idea."

Her sisters look at her, perplexed. "You do?"

Verdandi smiles shyly but there's no mistaking the devious twinkle in her eyes.

"You know," Skuld mumbles. "It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

* * *

A/N-Hey faithful readers and reviewers! I'm loving you all like a 2 whore right now.LOL Seriously, you are all SO amazing for reviewing, I really appreciate it. Alright, the quote is from Philip James Baily, I don't own any pop culture references made in this chapter, or Bow Bridge, which is an actual bridge in Central Park. This chapter is a major turning point in the story, so reviews would be awesome:)


	12. Kiss The Girl

Passing Strange

Eleanor is well aware that the summer has been an usual one, to say the least. Change has been lingering in the air for months and she has been on pins and needles, waiting. But for what, she didn't know. Part of her had been afraid that the change would be Sweeney deciding to pack up and leave again, as he is so apt to do. She'd been so sure of this that she had even tried to prepare herself for it, making Sweeney promise one quiet night in late July that if he ever decided to leave, he had to tell her first. The last thing Nellie wants is to wake up one morning and find him gone, off to who knows where for who knows how long.

Obviously, she'd been wrong about what the change would be. Walking back into the hospital that afternoon, Eleanor tries to convince herself that she had been imagining things. Sweeney had not tried to kiss her only half an hour ago. It had not happened. And she most _certainly _had not almost kissed her would-be murderer.

The whole idea is utterly preposterous.

But still.

Their mouths had been very close, and his grip on her waist had been very tight. Eleanor shakes her head violently as she washes up for surgery, trying to clear her mind. She'd fallen on top of him, of course they had been close. And he'd been holding her waist to catch her. It is as simple as that.

Hours later however, standing near the coffee maker in the lounge after a long surgery, Eleanor is still thinking about it. She is thinking of how nice and solid his body had felt beneath hers, how warm his hands had been on her waist, how sweet his breath was against her lips. Had it really happened, or had she just imagined it? It seems far-fetched that Sweeney Todd, Demon Barber of Fleet Street, the man who had tried to kill her, wants anything to do with kissing her. And even more far-fetched that she wants anything to do with kissing _him_.

There is an extent to how long one can delude oneself, and Nellie thinks she has reached her limit. She has to face the facts. If her pager had not gone off, their lips would have met right there on the living room floor. Gripping her styrofoam cup tightly, Eleanor walks over to the empty table in the lounge and sits, unblinking as she processes this newfound realization. It shouldn't be this shocking, considering Sweeney's reaction to Kurtis a few months ago. She knows jealously when she sees it, but she had tried to convince herself that it had just been a natural reaction on Sweeney's part, not a sign of actual feelings for her.

She can't deny that this is what she has always wanted, or rather, it used to be what she wanted. But does she still? She has told herself for years, _decades_, that she no longer loves Sweeney Todd - that her love for him had died as she had. And maybe some of it had, but not all of it, for she still has a strange fondness for him. Why else would she befriend her murderer, let him live with her again, make him breakfast, lean her head on his shoulder when they watch movies on the sofa together?

A sinking feeling makes itself known in the pit of Nellie's stomach, and she swallows past the tightening in her throat. Does she really still have feelings for that impossible, brutish bastard? She doesn't have much time to think about the answer before Carol comes bouncing into the room, her perky demeanor a stark contrast to Eleanor's mood.

"Where 'ave you been?" Eleanor asks, despite her very confusing inner conflict.

"Maternity ward," Carol says. "They're short on nurses today, so Dr. Garcia asked me to help." Carol sits down at the table with her own cup of coffee and runs a hand through her disheveled blonde hair. She doesn't seem to notice that her friend has already checked out of the conversation, lost in her own thoughts. "It was a boy, ugliest baby I've ever seen. And get this, they named him Hector. The poor kid doesn't stand a chance."

"Mm," Nellie replies, staring fixedly at a spot on the table.

Carol frowns, realizing she no longer has an audience. "His mother was a one-legged she-man and his father was a circus clown named BoBo."

"That's nice, dear," Eleanor says without looking up.

Waving a hand in front of Eleanor's face, Carol clears her throat loudly. "Hello, earth to Ellie!"

Nellie blinks in surprise, and snaps her eyes up to her friend. "I'm sorry love, what were you sayin'?"

Carol groans. "Okay, what's going on with you?"

"Nothin'," Eleanor says just a bit too quickly.

Carol is immediately suspicious, her blue eyes lighting up. "Do you have some nice, juicy gossip for your best friend in the whole wide world?"

Eleanor shakes her head. "No, no gossip. Just tired is all."

"Oh baloney," Carol gives her a look. "This is your fourth cup of coffee by the looks of all of these empty cups on the table here. You're not tired." Reaching out, Carol grabs Eleanor's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, what are friends for if you can't tell me anything?"

Glancing down at the table, and then back up into her friend's earnest eyes, Eleanor lets out a resigned sigh. There is no getting out of this, Carol will pester and nag until she breaks down and curls up in the fetal position. "Sweeney - " She stops, looks down and traces her finger over the rim of her cup uncomfortably. "I - We, we almost kissed, alright?" She says in one agitated breath, blushing.

Carol lets out a strangled squeak and bounces slightly in her chair. "Oh-em-gee. You did not!" Eleanor nods, still refusing to look at her. "What happened? How? What do you mean '_almost_'?"

As Eleanor slowly recounts the events of the afternoon, Carol becomes more and more excited until she is practically jumping out of her chair with unbridled glee. "I knew it! You kept telling me he was just a friend, but I knew it. I _knew _there was something there." She puts her chin in her palm. "I'm so jealous, I wish Tom looked like Sweeney."

Eleanor laughs. "That's a terrible way to talk about your fiancè."

"I know," she smiles. "So then what happened?"

Nellie shrugs. "After my pager went off, we sort of came back to our senses. I stood up and left." She sighs, looking down at her hands resting atop the table. " 'E didn't say one word, 'e wouldn't even _look _at me. I think we've sufficiently ruined what little friendship we 'ad to begin with."

Carol waves a hand at her. "Don't be stupid. He's a guy, he can't just come right out and tell you how he feels. Give him some time and everything will be alright. Trust me."

"Time, eh?" Eleanor purses her lips in thought. She can take all the time she needs to figure out how she feels, and give Sweeney some space. After all, time is the one thing neither of them is lacking in.

_--_

He sits on the floor for hours after Eleanor has gone, mind blank, not even moving when Louie wanders up to him and licks his hand, as if to check and make sure he is still alive. But when the dog stands by the apartment door and whines pathetically, Sweeney stands up, his joints aching from sitting for so long. Grabbing the leash, he takes the basset hound out to relieve itself. When that's done, he puts down some water in the special doggy dish and leaves him be, retreating to his bedroom. It is dinnertime now, but he has no appetite. He has a feeling Eleanor will not be home in time for dinner anyway.

His thoughts have slowed from a rushing, torrid river to a merely a steady stream, and as he reclines on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, he takes them as they come, mulling them over. What had made him do such a thing? He'd almost kissed Eleanor Lovett. And she had not seemed particularly unwilling to kiss him either. Sweeney is more surprised by this than anything. He has been struggling with his endless denial for months, but Eleanor...How can she still feel anything for him? He knows from her long-ago confession in the bakehouse that she had loved him at one time, but to think she still harbors such feelings is laughable.

He had shoved the woman into an oven for God's sake, she would have to be totally mad to feel anything for him but hatred. But she still smiles at him, hugs him, cries on his shoulder. She claims that he is her friend, and this thought alone is enough to make him shake his head in wonder at her ability to forgive and forget. Sweeney Todd has never been one for either characteristic.

Confusion written all over his countenance, he sighs heavily. His thoughts are all jumbled together, just one polluted stream of consciousness. He doesn't know what to think, what to feel. But in the back of his mind, the moment where their lips almost touched keeps playing over and over. He also feels a growing hatred for pagers.

Counting the tiles in the ceiling, he thinks over things thoroughly, like the professor that he is. On one hand, they have been friends for nearly two hundred years, and a relationship between them seems almost natural. But on the other hand, they had been enemies at one time. She had lied to him. _Lucy_.

Closing his eyes and determined to put these thoughts to rest for tonight, Sweeney blindly reaches out his hand to feel for a book on the bedside table. He groans in annoyance when he reads the title._ The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. _The book Eleanor had picked up for him when out with Kurtis. His hands tighten on the worn binding of the book at the thought of that day and the unexplainable anger he'd felt.

Anger that someone else could have what he didn't think he wanted. He still isn't sure what he wants. All he knows is the tortuous thoughts of what could have been if Eleanor's pager hadn't sounded in their ears. Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise. A relationship between them would no doubt be disastrous. Two stubborn, hardheaded, strong-willed people with very different personalities. He hardly wants to ruin a 163 year-old friendship for a few stolen kisses. And his Lucy. How can he betray his late wife's memory by wanting to be with the woman who had assisted in killing her?

He massages his temple briefly, feeling the beginnings of a headache at all of this pondering and brooding. He hasn't truly brooded in quite a while, and he feels secure enough in himself to admit that he does not miss it. Cracking open his book to a random spot, Sweeney begins to read, hoping for an escape from his vexing thoughts.

_Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale _

_Her infinite variety. Other women cloy_

_The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry_

_Where she most satisfies. For the vilest things_

_Become themselves in her, that the holy priests_

_Bless her when she is riggish. _

Snapping the book shut, Sweeney puts it on the nightstand, jaw clenched tightly. Vengeance, boat rides, spying, baseball and now Shakespeare. Must she ruin everything? Deciding his best bet is to just turn out the lights and go to bed, Sweeney stands and walks to the window in his bedroom, sliding it open so that the wind rustles the curtains and the sound of New York traffic lulls him to sleep.

Hours later, when Eleanor finally makes it back from the hospital, he awakens when she shuts the apartment door behind her. Lying awake, he listens to Louie's paws on the hardwood floor as he runs as fast as his short little legs will carry him to greet her. He hears Eleanor's soft laugh, followed by her footsteps down the hall as she and Louie head off to bed. The last thing he hears before he falls back into a dreamless sleep is the sound of Eleanor's bedroom door shutting.

The following morning, after a painfully awkward breakfast that consists of Sweeney staring glumly at his waffle, and Eleanor nibbling uneasily on an apple before scurrying out the door, Sweeney makes his way to class for the first time in three very long months. As his students begin filing in one after the other, taking their seats, he stands behind his desk and breathes in the familiarity. The smell of pencil shavings, new leaflets of paper, chalk dust, and best of all, freshmen.

Last semester, he had discovered the joys of tormenting the freshmen students, as they are the youngest and therefore the most vulnerable. It doesn't occur to him that this is also the way lions select their prey. He sees lots of new faces as they all take up a desk, but he also sees some old ones. Kurtis - He sneers and turns away from the boy. Sarah - the girl who wears low cut blouses and stares at him with a dreamy smile on her face for the entire class period. But he isn't interested in the students who are already used to him.

He is momentarily distracted from searching out fresh meat when Jenny walks through the door talking to a girl he vaguely remembers from the previous semester. "How could he do that? After everything she'd done for him?" Jenny looks annoyed, and Sweeney is just about to write it off as Ex-Boyfriend Talk when what she says next stops him dead in his tracks. "Giving him a place to stay, covering up his murders, giving him back his razors. She loved him and he repaid her by burning her alive."

"That's sick," the other girl wrinkles her nose as they take their seats in the front of the class.

"It's twisted," Jenny agrees, adjusting her books. "But it was beautiful. I've been depressed since I watched it last night. And I can't get Little Priest out of my head!"

"Oh man," Kurtis looks disturbed. "Are you still talking about that damn movie?"

"What movie?" Asks a small, thin girl behind Sarah.

Sweeney distantly recognizes her as a freshman, but he is too busy trying not to look faint to be pleased about this.

"The Demon Barber of Fleet Street," Jenny says. "We rented it last night."

Kurtis leans back until he is all but slumped in his seat. "Why are you so worked up? It's only a movie."

"I know," Jenny moans miserably. "But it felt real. They felt like real people to me." She sits up straighter in her seat suddenly. "Is it weird that I was rooting for the murderers?"

"Murderers are people too."

Jenny looks up at her professor at the mumbled words, surprised to see him looking more pale than usual and gripping the edge of his desk. She frowns, eyeing him worriedly.

"I didn't like his wife anyway," Sarah interrupts, making a face. "She seemed like a bit of an airhead. And she was just going to kill herself and leave her daughter all alone! How selfish is that?"

Sweeney turns his eyes to her, giving her a vicious glare and Sarah looks taken aback at the fierceness in his eyes. Sarah had voiced the thoughts he used to have all the time, he still doesn't understand how Lucy could just abandon Johanna, but to hear someone else say so is unacceptable.

"I can't believe he killed her," Jenny sighs, ignoring their silent exchange and looking utterly depressed, nothing like her usual bubbly self.

"She lied to m-_him_," Sweeney points out, sounding defensive as he turns his attention from the now meek-looking Sarah. He doesn't want to give himself away, but he also can't just sit back and be a spectator while his past is being dissected and judged by a bunch of college students.

"So what?" Jenny asks, incensed. "She did what she did partly for him, and partly for her own selfish reasons, just like any other human being. I mean, would he have really wanted to see his wife that way?"

"Totally," the girl next to Jenny looks up from filing her nails. "I mean, all he did was talk about how beautiful and pure and virtuous she was. She definitely wasn't like that anymore."

"Exactly," Jenny agrees. "All the things he loved about her were gone. There was only madness left. She hadn't been his wife since her lips touched the bottle of arsenic."

"Plus," the girl cuts in again. "She was freaking crazy."

Taken aback at their strong opinions and the fact that everyone seems to be siding with Eleanor, Sweeney begins pacing in front of the chalkboard, his mind racing. The movie had come to theaters months ago, and just recently had come out on DVD, but he and Eleanor have been avoiding it like the plague. The legend has been around ever since they left Fleet Street that fateful night, but they'd never expected their past would be made into a musical for the masses. Neither of them is particularly eager to see their crimes play across their television screen.

"You know," he finally says, trying to sound calm and collected. "Some people think she could have been nursed back to health, and that the baker knew that and just wanted the barber to herself."

"No way," Kurtis Russell speaks up and Sweeney tries not to let his disgust show outwardly. "The woman was loopy. She took the poison fifteen years ago, and when he returned she was still nuts. There's no coming back from that, especially not without the medical advances we have now."

Sweeney is quiet, thinking over this new information, and Jenny sighs again, putting her chin in her hand. "I just can't believe he shoved her into the oven. That was so heartless."

"He killed his wife because of her," Sweeney grits his teeth, trying not to snap at his student.

"She may as well have been dead already!" Jenny reasons. "She wasn't his wife anymore. In fact, I think his wife would have been afraid of him. He wasn't the same guy, he was damn scary. I think the baker was perfect for him, she was the only one who loved him for who he was."

During this fiery debate between teacher and student, the other occupants of the classroom watch the two closely, their heads swiveling back and forth between them like a tennis match, stunned at the ferocity of a conversation about a movie. Jenny doesn't notice, and Sweeney can't bring himself to care.

"She shouldn't have lied," he says softly, one last weakened point in his argument. The passion is gone from his voice.

"No," Jenny agrees, lowering her voice as well, confused at her favorite professor's reaction to their debate. "She shouldn't have. But she was doing what she thought was best. You can't ask for more than that." He is staring at his desk, looking a million miles away, a wistful expression on his face. "You okay, professor?"

He nods quickly, turning his back to the class and reaching for a piece of chalk. "Let's begin. No interruptions today, children."

As he begins going over an outline for the semester and everyone scrambles for notebooks and pens, Jenny watches her professor closely. His movements seem shaky, anxious. She gets the distinct feeling she has hit a nerve in their little discussion. But she has no idea why.

_--_

It is time. They have been avoiding it for quite a while, but now, as they stand there in front of the elaborate display, with shelves upon shelves of entertainment, they know. There is no getting out of it, no making excuses. It is time to watch The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

When Eleanor had come home from work, things had been strained between the two of them. Neither of them knew what to say or how to act around the other person, they were like bumbling pubescent teenagers. When two people almost kiss but don't, it leaves a certain amount of tension between the two parties. It is the thing that no one talks about, the big elephant in the room everyone is trying to ignore. But they can't. After all, who can ignore an elephant?

Instead of talking about it like well-adjusted people, the two had simply ignored the apprehensive atmosphere. Sweeney had clumsily informed her of his students renting the movie, and suggested that perhaps it was time to take a gander at the footage. And so, they find themselves buying a copy of the movie and taking it back to the apartment in the silence that comes easily to those who have much to say, but don't say it.

Eleanor sits as far away from his as possible on the sofa as The Demon Barber of Fleet Street begins, and he frowns as he compare it to all the other times when she is practically glued to his side. No Place Like London is the first scene, and when the fair complected boy onscreen opens his mouth, Eleanor quite literally, bursts out laughing.

Sweeney turns to look at her with raised brows. "Care to share with the class, my dear?"

She smiles, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'd forgotten 'ow girly Anthony was."

He glances back at the screen. "I don't know..."

Eleanor looks at him skeptically. "Darlin', that boy is gayer than a bloody fruit basket. Perfectly wonderful though, even if 'e did 'ave a penchant for interruptin' things."

The more he watches of Anthony, the more he realizes she is right - Anthony was quite feminine for a sailor. "You're right," he says, sounding reluctant to agree.

"Of course I am, I'm always right," she says flippantly.

He begs to differ, but the moment has broken the ice between them. She moves from the other end of the sofa to sit closer to him, and the hostility between them seems to melt away at this small peace offering.

"I told you ya look like Johnny Depp," she says. "Bloody frightenin' resemblance."

He narrows his eyes at her. "And I seem to recall telling you that _you _resemble the woman with the strange clothing."

She makes a childish face at him. "Touche, love." Sweeney seems to draw away from her when Lucy appears, but Nellie won't have it, putting her hand on his arm until he relaxes beneath her touch. "Beadle Bamford, that slimy git," she sneers when the man first shows himself. "Bugger still gives me the creeps."

Sweeney snorts lightly at this. It feels oddly wrong to watch what they had been through from the outside, but it is like a train wreck in the sense that they cannot look away, no matter how badly they wish to. When the little boy playing Toby first comes to the pie shop and whips off his blonde wig, Sweeney watches Eleanor's eyes fill with tears, and he cautiously reaches out, placing his hand over hers.

She lets out a choked laugh and hurriedly wipes at her eyes. "I think I need a cigarette," she confesses. Pulling her hand out from under his, she stands up and makes for the study, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket.

Sweeney watches her go and sighs, turning back to the movie just in time to see Signor Pirelli meet his end. A brief flicker of a smile crosses his lips at the sight of all of that blood. Pompous bastard had deserved it. After this, he becomes so absorbed in watching the movie, so engrossed in seeing his history displayed for the world, that he doesn't notice Eleanor's prolonged absence until the credits roll.

He rewinds the scene where he kills the judge to watch it again, glances away as he slits Lucy's throat, and looks on in discomfort when he shoves Eleanor into the burning oven without a second thought. When he'd done it all those years ago, he'd only felt happiness, knowing that the woman who had assisted in the killing of his wife was gone forever. Now, as Toby leaves him in a pool of his own blood, the only thing he feels is a sick tightening in his stomach.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at the television screen. There had been some inconsistencies, but for the most part, the script is accurate. So accurate that he had been waiting for the moment when he wakes up over his dead wife's body and Eleanor begins pounding on the oven door, screaming to be let out.

He is relieved when no such thing occurs, and shaking off the remnants of disbelief, he looks around the living room. No Eleanor. Where did she wander off to? He walks into the study and finds her sitting on the ledge of an open window, cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers as she stares down at the city below. It has been nearly two hours, and there is a pile of cigarette butts lying on the sill next to her.

He stands beside her, leaning against the window frame, waiting for her to speak. Taking the burning cigarette from her, he snubs it out on the sill and tosses it out the window, ignoring her reproving look.

The silence is on the verge of becoming tense when she finally speaks, and her voice sounds too soft, too tired. "I couldn't watch it. It's too much. I already lived it, I don't bloody need anyone to remind me."

Nodding in understanding, Sweeney joins her in staring out the window. "Would you like me to dispose of it?"

She shakes her head. "Maybe one day I'll stop bein' such a pussy cat an' be able to sit through it." Eleanor sighs, tilting her head up. "Was it pretty close to the truth?"

He hesitates. "As...close as it could get without showing you crawl out of the oven with not a bit of singe."

She winces at this. "Wonder who started the legend to begin with?"

Sweeney looks at her quizzically. "You mean you haven't figured it out? In all these years?" She gives him a befuddled look and he tsks in disappointment. "Why, Eleanor. I'm surprised at you. There was only one person there with us, only one person went through the whole ordeal and lived to tell about it apart from ourselves."

Eleanor gasps, covering her mouth with her fingers. "Toby."

"Congratulations my pet," he says condescendingly. "And it only took you over a century to put all of the pieces together."

She swats at him and manages to make contact with the side of his head. "Kindly keep your scathin' remarks to yourself, Mr. Todd."

"Sincerest apologies, Mrs. Lovett," he taunts.

He doesn't get the response out of her he had been hoping for, her thin smile disappears instantly, replaced by a pinched, guilty look. "Speakin' of apologies...I've been thinkin' since I watched that lil' bit of the movie and...I'm sorry I lied," she says softly, eyes downcast. "Shoulda told ya 'bout Lucy. 'Twas only doin' what I thought was right."

Her abrupt confession takes him by surprise. They've spent their lives not talking about it at all, and now she is admitting her own wrongdoing in the whole affair. He knows it must have taken a lot of courage to be the first to speak of it. It is a big step, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Sweeney Todd. One good turn deserves another.

"And I...may have been overreacting when I threw you into the oven," he says, sounding pained. He hates apologizing for anything, almost as much as he hates being wrong.

She snorts at this. "No, killin' someone is a perfectly understandable reaction to bein' lied to."

Frowning at her sarcasm, Sweeney turns his eyes out the window, observing people on the sidewalk beneath them. "I like to think I've changed a little, Eleanor. At least to the point where I do not relish the death of a friend. I just watched you, or rather, another _version _of you, die on our television set." He gives a soft sigh. "I didn't get the same sick satisfaction from it that I did the last time, if it makes any difference to you."

"D'you mean it?" She asks. She sounds hopeful to his ears and he thinks that only Eleanor can find what he had just said touching.

He nods silently, eyes distant, as if he is seeing the past once again. The present is brought crashing down around him when Eleanor leaps up and throws her arms around his neck. The scent of her perfume overwhelms his senses, and he barely feels her press her face into the crook of his neck. Sweeney isn't even aware of his own actions until he feels his arms move of their own accord to wrap around her smaller frame. She feels delicate and fragile in his arms, and though he knows she is anything but, he is afraid of holding her too tightly.

The air between them feels lighter than it has in years, and he knows it has everything to do with addressing their unseemly past. He feels free, almost light hearted, at least, as light hearted as Sweeney Todd will ever get. So when Eleanor pulls away ever-so slightly to look up into his eyes, there is no doubt in his mind that things are going to be very different between them from now on.

She peers up at him with big brown eyes, a tiny smile gracing her lips. Their gazes lock, and as their faces draw closer together, Sweeney doesn't try to stop it. He thinks it has been a long time coming, some universal pull is forcing them together and they are powerless to stop it. Their lips touch for the first time in 163 years, their very first kiss, and at first, it is gentle, almost hesitant brushes of their lips. Eleanor's eyes flutter shut as her mouth lingers on his. But it isn't enough, and she longs to be closer. Her hands are on his shoulders, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as she pulls him nearer, melting against him.

She opens her mouth against his, and no longer afraid of hurting her, Sweeney brings his hand to the back of her neck, eagerly plundering her mouth with his. Their kisses are no longer sweet, but fierce and harsh, years of pent up emotion pouring forth. Sweeney pushes her roughly against the window sill, biting at her bottom lip and she clutches at him with a soft whimper. She tastes like his dream, he realizes. Soft, cool and warm. It is only his first taste of her, but he is already addicted to it. To her.

When they pull away to breathe, he trails his warm mouth along her jaw line, his tongue slipping out to sample her skin. As he nips at the soft spot beneath her ear, Eleanor presses herself against him with a moan, and if he had not been so distracted, he would have marveled at how well they fit together. Like two long lost puzzles pieces finally coming together to create a masterpiece.

"Sweeney," she breathes, and he responds by tightening his hold on her waist. She presses her hands to his chest and pushes lightly, making him stop what he is doing to look down at her questioningly. "Maybe we shouldn't - " She looks up and sees dark eyes clouded over with lust, that muscular chest rising up and down with his every measured breath, and she can't resist him anymore. After all, isn't 163 years long enough to wait? "Oh, bugger it." She stands on her tiptoes, snaking her arms around his neck, and he brings his lips crashing down on hers in a rough kiss that takes her breath away.

Heat floods her stomach as her lips move against his with surprising familiarity, like they have been doing this for years. It feels raw and animalistic, her eyes water and her knees buckle. Eleanor grips his shirt, no longer trusting her own legs to hold her up.

As if sensing her sudden weakness, Sweeney instantly lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist. He breaks the kiss and tastes the corner of her mouth, slowly moving them away from the window. While he is intent on guiding them out of the study, Eleanor trembles against him, her mouth on his neck, raking her teeth against his ear. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, twisting locks of it around her fingers.

Sweeney finds it immensely difficult to direct his steps with her distracting him so, and he growls lowly when he feels her tongue on the skin of his collarbone. She smiles into his neck at the sound. When he makes it to her bedroom, miraculously without dropping her, he stumbles to the bed and lets her fall to the mattress. Her head hits the pillow, and he moves to hover over her.

"Are you sure, love?" She gazes up at him, expression ardent, cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink and her chest heaving. She looks so enchanting then that he doesn't think he could stop if he truly wanted to.

He almost grins at her, gingerly moving an auburn curl from her eyes. "Not at all, pet."

Eleanor's lips curl into an indulgent smile and she pulls his head down to hers, slanting her lips against his in a deep kiss. They fumble with clothing and bed sheets, their bodies finally pressed together in a dance as old as time itself. And as the world narrows to encompass only the two of them, they cannot help but think that it feels very much like coming home.

_--_

_What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide..._

As the Wyrd sisters watch the two humans sleep, curled up beneath the sheets of Lovett's bed, Urd is not quite sure what to feel. Her sisters however, have no problem feeling absolutely ecstatic. She watches in distaste as Skuld and Verdandi link arms and dance about like preteen girls.

"Your idea was exquisite. Imagine, all of this because his students watched a film!" Skuld says to Verdandi, grinning broadly. "They shall be confessing their love on the morrow as surely as the sun will rise."

Verdandi smiles winsomely. "Well I can't take all the credit." She pauses, rethinking. "It _was _a rather wonderful idea though, wasn't it?"

"It was positively devious," Skuld reassures her, taking her hand and twirling her about. "I'm so proud to call you sister."

Urd rolls her eyes at the display and looks back at the sleeping couple, doubtful. "You celebrate too early, sisters," she says above the din of their chatter. " 'Tis not love. Not yet."

"What do you mean?" Skuld stops her prancing about to look at her sister.

Urd gestures to the sleeping two. "This is not love. They're confused, they feel _something_, they just don't know what." She lifts her face heavenward in exasperation. So close, and yet so far. "Lord, what fools these mortals be."

Skuld and Verdandi look adequately put out, and both stand with their arms hanging limply at their sides, no longer feeling the urge to dance around in triumph. "But..." Verdandi looks sanguine. "They're close. Right?"

Urd sighs. "Aye. They are close." Lovett shifts sleepily, resting her head on Todd's bare chest and he wraps an arm around her waist in his sleep. Moonlight spills into the room, revealing their similar expressions of content. "At least, closer than they have ever been before."

"What do we do?" Verdandi whispers, as if speaking any louder will waking the slumbering pair.

Skuld shakes her head, sighing. "There is nothing more _to _do. Right now we can only watch, and hope they can figure things out on their own."

"We can't interfere?" Verdandi looks distraught. "They'll never make it!"

Urd smiles soothingly. "No need to fear, dear one. We can intervene when need be, but all of the hard work is up to them now." She glances at Todd and Lovett once more, glad to know that at least for tonight, they are not alone, plagued by demons of the past. "They can handle it - I have faith in them."

* * *

A/N-There you have it, the chapter most of you have been waiting for. I'm completely nervous about that last rather intimate scene between Todd and Lovett, so feedback would be much loved. Before you mention it, I know the previous chapters said 162 years, but don't forget that several months have passed. Just want to get that out of the way before someone speaks up:) Also, in this twisted version of reality, there is no Sweeney Todd play or anything, only the movie. The selection Sweeney reads from is from Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra and the quote from the section with the Fates is also Shakespeare. Props to TwistedIngenue for spoiling the next chapter title before I could post it.LOL Props to her also for guessing the Rear Window reference. Sorry I forgot to mention that to you in my review reply! EclipseValkyrie made a music video for this story, which is amazingly done and I'm so horribly flattered that I could blush. So check it out on Youtube and tell her how fantabulous she is!


	13. Making It Right

Passing Strange

The morning sun filtering in through Eleanor's bedroom windows causes her to stir much earlier than she would have liked. Shifting slightly, eyes still shut against the harsh light of day, she stretches languidly, her arms falling to her sides. She frowns thoughtfully, sure that she is forgetting something. The haze of sleep is still prominent in her mind, and as she lies there in the middle of her bed, Nellie tries to remember what it is. Her frown deepens suddenly at the lack of a warm, furry tub of fat that is usually nestled into her side when she wakes up. Where is Louie?

All at once, the previous night comes rushing back to her like a strange dream. Her eyes snap open immediately, and she sits up so quickly that the room spins from the sudden movement. Clutching the bed sheet to her chest, Eleanor looks around, blinking sleepily. The room is empty, besides herself, the only clothes littering the floor are her own. Had she dreamed it? Her hand flies to her bare shoulder, and she winces at the sore bite mark there. She certainly didn't dream _that_. She had slept with Sweeney Todd. The man she used to be madly in love with, the man who had tried to kill her, the man who has been a part of her life for nearly two centuries. She isn't sure what to make of the fluttering sensation in her stomach.

With this revelation comes a new problem. Where is Sweeney? Throwing back the covers, Eleanor slips from the bed and gathers her clothes, slipping on her jeans and pulling a tank top over her head. She glances in the mirror as she makes her way out of the room, and hurriedly attempts to arrange her hair in a way that doesn't scream 'bedhead'. During her haste to get dressed, she hasn't heard a sound from anywhere in the apartment, and a troubling thought pushes its way to the forefront of her mind. What if he isn't here?

This possibility sends her into overdrive and she stumbles to door, tripping over a pair of sneakers on her way out. Padding barefoot down the hallway, Nellie enters the living room and finds no one but Louie. He wags his tail at her and paws at her leg, but she only pats him on the head before hurrying to the kitchen. Empty. Her heart feels like it has taken up residence in her stomach as she makes her way out of the kitchen to search every room in the apartment. After finding the loft, the study and the bathroom bereft of life, Eleanor timidly peers around the doorway to glance inside Sweeney's bedroom, her heart hammering. The room looks the same, with one exception. No Sweeney.

Leaning against the doorframe, Eleanor swallows past the lump in her throat and tries to think clearly. There has to be some logical explanation for waking up to find him elsewhere, besides the less than desirous option that he had gone. Fled. Left her high and dry. She can't bring herself to look inside the room and see if his belongings are still there. She doesn't want to see empty dresser drawers or a hastily scribbled note about having to go. Or maybe no note at all.

Pushing herself off the doorframe, Eleanor shakily walks down the hallway, not sure where she is going but unable to stand outside his empty bedroom for another second. She'd been so delusional to think that things would be different. She realizes that she hasn't changed at all, always believing that everything will be different, no matter how many times she is proven wrong. Shaking her head, Eleanor blinks back tears and tries desperately not to think about the night before. She doesn't want to think about his flesh against hers, or how nice it had been to fall asleep next to another person, instead of a slobbering basset hound.

"No offense dear," she murmurs as she sits numbly on the sofa, next to her dog. He doesn't seem to take offense to her thoughts, merely flopping over onto his back and looking up at her curiously. The silence seems to consume the apartment, the only sound that reaches her ears is the ticking of the clock on one wall, an antique she'd bought brand new in 1915. She usually takes comfort in the sound, but this morning, the last thing she wants to hear is the sound of the minutes ticking by.

Eleanor knows that now is the time to be panicking, to be angry, to feel _something_. But she is too shocked to do anything but sit there. She vaguely relates the feeling to someone kicking her in the chest, unable to inhale and all she can focus on is trying to breathe again, drawing oxygen into her lungs almost mechanically.

She sits there for a good five minutes, nothing but the sound of the ticking clock and her own steady breathing to fill the silence. The key in the lock and the doorknob turning is so unexpected that all Nellie can do is stare, heart battering against her rib cage. Sweeney Todd breezes through the door balancing his keys and two cups of coffee from the Starbucks a block away, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

He stops when he sees her sitting on the sofa, wide awake and looking distraught. "What's the matter with you?" He asks with his usual gruffness.

"I - " Eleanor's voice catches in her throat and she stops to collect herself before continuing in that same wavering tone. "I thought you'd left."

Sweeney looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, still holding their coffee. "I'm not leaving anytime soon, Eleanor," he whispers, staring at the floor. "All right?"

She nods, giving him a watery smile. The relief flooding through her is so strong that it overwhelms every other impulse, and she can't move from her spot on the sofa. Nellie can only reach out for her cup of coffee, mouth slightly agape. He gives it to her, and she feels his finger brush against hers as the cup transfers from his hand to hers.

"We're out of coffee again," he says, turning from her to walk into the kitchen. "Had to go out and get it."

Taking a small sip of her latte, Nellie waits for him to begin his usual tirade about the uselessness of having a coffee maker if they are always going to be out of coffee grounds. She waits for the speech she knows so well, but it doesn't come. In fact, he says nothing as he rifles around in the kitchen for something to eat. She listens closely but hears only the thump of cereal boxes being shoved aside, the refrigerator door opening and shutting, and then finally the rattle of cutlery as he tries to locate a spoon.

It is a small thing to pick up on, but she notices it nonetheless. A small, niggling thought worms itself into her mind. If he is already refraining from saying something he normally would, then how drastically is this going to change their relationship? How drastically does she want it to change? She has become so comfortable in their usual repartee that she isn't sure if she wants it to change at all.

In the kitchen, in the middle of a bowl of cereal, Sweeney Todd contemplates his morning so far.

If there has ever been a day he did not want to go to work, today is that day. He can't explain the strange longing he has to crawl back into bed and bury his face in deep red hair. It is an unsettling feeling that he can't remember ever having before.

Last night, things had been so clear to him, but in the unforgiving light of morning, things aren't nearly so crystalline. He knows that he likes waking up with her head on his chest, he knows he likes to watch her sleep, and he knows he gets a sick satisfaction from opening Eleanor's bedroom door to see Louie sleeping in the hall, having been locked out of the bedroom for the night. But beyond that, he is at a loss.

The day is going to be a long one, and he knows when he finally makes it home from work, there will still be much left to do. He and Eleanor will need to discuss where to go from here, it has only been one morning and he is already tired of walking on eggshells around her. He already misses the familiarity he has grown so accustomed to with her.

Minutes later, while he is rinsing out his cereal bowl in the sink, Eleanor walks into the kitchen and grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter. "I 'ave to leave a little early today," she says, sounding timid. "So I'll see you later, love?"

Sweeney nods, turning off the water and moving to the dishwasher. He tosses the dish and spoon in carelessly, and when he straightens, he is acutely aware of Eleanor's presence behind him. Turning on his heel, he finds himself face to face with the wide-eyed doctor. "Can I help you?" He asks dryly, looking down at her.

She hesitates for just a moment before leaning up on her tiptoes, and pressing a swift kiss to his cheek. It only lasts a second, but in that short amount of time, he finds everything he needs to know in the smell of her perfume and the brush of her hair against his jaw. She pulls back quickly, her hand grazing his arm as she flushes bright pink, turning to hurry out the door without waiting to see his reaction.

The spot on his cheek where she'd placed her lips tingles pleasantly, but outwardly, he shows no sign of noticing except for the smallest hint of a smile as he leans against the sink, watching her disappear into the living room and out the door.

_--_

If Eleanor Lovett has one fatal flaw, it is that she wears her heart and her emotions on her sleeve, for all the world to see. It is how her mother always knew when she had disobeyed, how Albert could tell when she was angry, and how the demon barber had been able to manipulate her through her feelings for him. It has always been this way, and no amount of living forever is going to change that. And so, when she walks into the locker room at the hospital that morning, she tries to avoid her friend at all costs, knowing that the minute Carol gets a good look at her, she will know everything.

She changes into scrubs, pulls her hair back out of her face, and is in the middle of stuffing her clothes into a locker when Carol walks in. "Hey," she says, passing right by her to get to her own locker. "How goes it?"

"Smashing," Eleanor mutters, turning her face away.

Carol mumbles an obscenity at her stubborn locker door and shoves her shoulder into it. "So no change between you and hot Professor Todd?" When Eleanor doesn't answer, she continues, each sentence punctuated by the slam of her shoulder against the metal of the locker. "I wouldn't worry about it." _Slam_. "He'll come around eventually." _Slam_. "I mean - "_ Slam_."Look at you. How is he going to stay away from that?" _Slam_.

Sighing, Eleanor pushes her friend out of the way, raps her knuckles against the locker door and pulls. It opens without hesitation, and Carol gapes. "How did you - "

"Oh I've been around, dear," Nellie smiles, forgetting for the time being that she is supposed to be hiding from Carol's all-seeing eyes. By the time she remembers, it is too late and Carol has read everything in her eyes that she doesn't say.

Gasping theatrically, Carol puts a hand to her chest. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Eleanor pales. "No. Nothin' 'appened." She is already feeling confused about things between herself and the mad professor, she doesn't want to cause any further havoc to her overworked mind by rehashing everything with Carol. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you have that funny pinched look on your face," Carol explains. "You always make that face when you're over-thinking things. What happened?"

Holding up her hands, Nellie tries to put on her best innocent expression. "I'm sorry to burst your bubble, love, but nothin' 'appened."

Carol studies her silently for a moment before her eyes widen suddenly, blue orbs abnormally large as she gawks at her friend. "You had sex."

Choking on the air she draws into her lungs, Eleanor takes a step back. "W-what? No I 'aven't."

"You have," Carol insists, pointing a finger at her accusingly. "I can tell by the look on your face!"

"That's ridiculous," Eleanor scoffs at her, hiding her hands behind her back so her friend doesn't see how badly they are shaking. "You can't tell somethin' like that by just lookin' at a person."

"You have a glow," Carol points out. "The only time people glow is when they have sex, get married, or they're pregnant. Any of these spell out sex with Sweeney."

Eleanor only stares, flustered. "I do _not _'ave a glow. And even if I did, whose to say it isn't from bronzer or somethin'?"

Carol frowns. "You're as pale as you were yesterday. It's not bronzer, it's a glow. There's difference."

"You're bein' irrational," Eleanor huffs.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Carol absentmindedly blows a piece of blonde hair from her face and narrows her eyes. "Oh really? If I'm being irrational then how do I know you and Sweeney did it last night? Twice."

Eleanor looks appalled. "It was not twice, it was - " She stops abruptly at the look of triumph on her friend's face, knowing she has just been tricked into revealing the truth. "Oh alright, so we did it and you knew. We'll throw a bloody party in your honor."

Carol lets out some sort of strangled squeak that startles Eleanor, and reaches out to the doctor, pulling her over to a bench across the room. "So tell me what happened," she says excitedly. "I can't believe you were trying to keep this from me! What kind of friend are you?"

"A confused one," Eleanor bemoans. "I don't know what's goin' on between us."

Holding up a hand, Carol shakes her head. "Wait. Start at the beginning or I'll be confused too."

She sighs. "We watched a movie last night, we kissed, kissin' led to a helluva lot more. Now you're up to speed." Eleanor purposefully glosses over the part about the movie being based on their murderous pasts, or that Sweeney apologizing for trying to kill her is what led to them kissing in the first place. She thinks with a smirk, that giving out these little details like that might confuse the poor girl.

"Oh I can't believe it!" Carol claps her hands together like a small child, grinning. "I _knew _something was going to happen. I knew he couldn't be that hot and be gay. I knew it all along."

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Yes, you're a bloody genius but you're not helpin'."

"Sorry," Carol smiles guiltily. "So what happened this morning? Was it majorly awkward?"

"Well, when I woke up, 'e was gone," Nellie begins, only to be interrupted by Carol smacking her leg in surprise.

"Oh that pig!" She snaps, looking furious. "How dare he - "

" 'E went to get us coffee," Eleanor finishes, and Carol pauses mid rant.

"That sweet, wonderful man," she smiles dreamily. "Oh he's lovely."

Throwing up her hands, Eleanor sighs loudly. "Do ya want 'ear this or not?"

"Of course I do."

"Then stop interruptin' me," Eleanor gives her a pointed look and Carol pouts, folding her hands in her lap obediently. "Now, as I was sayin', 'e went to get us coffee and...I don't know 'ow to explain it. 'E acted exactly the same as 'e always does but somethin' was different. I can't put my finger on it." She trails off, lost in thought.

Carol smiles sympathetically. "Sweetie, of course it's different. Sex changes everything, always does."

"I know that," Eleanor frowns. She isn't naive enough to think that things would stay the same, but part of her had hoped most things would. She doesn't want to lose the easy banter they have established between them, or become too awkward around him to be honest anymore. There are some things in their relationship that she doesn't want to lose in favor of sex. But does it have to be this way, or do people just sit back and let things change because they think it's suppose to?

"At least he isn't being a total jerk now that he's gotten you into bed," Carol's voice cuts into Eleanor's thoughts. "Speaking of which, how was he?" She smiles mischievously, wriggling her eyebrows.

Eleanor blushes deeply, memories from the night before rushing back to her. "I don't 'ave time for this nonsense. I 'ave work to do."

Carol smirks as her friends stands up to walk past her, calling to her back, "So does that mean you saw stars?"

"Can't 'ear you," Nellie sings over her shoulder, heading out the door to prep for surgery. As much as she hadn't wanted to talk about, she has to admit that having it out in the open has helped immensely in her thought process and Eleanor silently thanks Carol for being so persistent.

Her thoughts don't leave her as she exits the room, following her through washing up for a transplant, lingering in the back of her mind during the surgery, and nagging at her as she washes off the blood, tossing latex gloves into the trash.

Things last night had happened so quickly, she hadn't been given time to think it through. Is a relationship with Sweeney really what she wants? A brief smile lightens her troubled features at this. Yesterday afternoon, this very question had been the source of her confusion, but now she knows the answer with absolute clarity. She does want a relationship with the crazy, infuriating man, because as frustrating as he may be, she knows there has always only been him. What that means regarding her feelings for him, she has no idea.

She doesn't even know what he wants from her, what last night had meant to him. Try as she might, and as much as it pains her to admit it even to herself, she can only ever picture him with a tall, willowy blonde with a sweet smile. Even on Fleet Street, when she imagined their life together by the sea, Lucy had always been there, bringing bitter reality even to her wildest fantasies. But whether or not Sweeney knows what he wants, Eleanor knows what she wants from Sweeney, and for now, that is going to have to be enough.

_--_

When Eleanor walks through the door that evening, she finds Sweeney sitting at the dining room table, tapping his finger restlessly against the surface. He has a tormented look on his face that she is all too familiar with, and in the silence she hopes he doesn't hear how shallow her breathing has become. Wiping sweating palms on her pants, she steps closer and places a hand on his shoulder to alert him of her presence.

He glances up at her as if surprised by her touch, but when she moves to take her hand away, he catches it with his own, holding her fingers in his. "We need to talk." His face is blank, nothing in his expression gives away what he is thinking. Dread settles in the pit of her stomach but she nods anyway.

They make their way to a bar just around the corner, one of the few quiet ones left that doesn't become a buffet for singles after nine o'clock every night. The two don't speak much on the walk there, and once polite conversation runs out, they don't speak at all. The tension between them is so obvious that she wants to laugh at it.

They take up seats in a dimly lit corner of the bar, nursing scotches over the sound of Tom Petty from the jukebox across the room. The place smells of sawdust and whiskey, the walls are covered in framed vintage alcohol advertisements. The only other occupants of the bar are a group of middle-aged men shooting a game of pool and having a few rounds of beer. Eleanor loves the feel of this place, it takes her back to a time when bars were where you went to forget your troubles, not find new ones.

When she looks up to meet Sweeney's eyes, she finds him staring into his glass of scotch with a look of deep concentration. She decides to wait him out, having recognized that expression, and knowing what it means. It means that he is doing some very heavy thinking, perhaps brooding, and unless she wants him snap at her, she is better off leaving him be until he comes to her.

For the second time today, she only feels numb where this man is concerned, and she thinks it must be her mind's natural reaction to his fickle moods. She is always preparing herself for whatever might come, and in the process, shutting off any feelings she may have. For once, she is grateful for the mechanism because it keeps her from melting into a puddle of nerves right in their booth.

She knows what she wants, but what does that matter when she doesn't know what _he _wants? What if he wants nothing at all to do with her, and right this very moment, he is trying to find the best way to break it to her gently? The 'Just Friends' speech. She recoils at the mere thought and inwardly damns him for making her think of him once again as more than a friend, only to crush her for the third time in her never-ending life. Once as Benjamin and twice as Sweeney Todd. She wonders what it means for Benjamin that his rejection as Sweeney hurts ten times worse than it ever had when he was Mr. Barker.

Lifting her drink to her mouth, she sips tentatively and pulls a face. She has never been too fond of the taste of scotch, so she brings the cool glass to her face, breathing in the smell of it instead of torturing herself with another sip. The scent of scotch always brings thoughts of her father to mind, although she doesn't recall much about him. With the smell of this particular drink, she remembers cigar smoke and tight hugs so vividly that it always brings tears of nostalgia to her eyes.

"If this is going to work," Sweeney finally speaks, and the sound of his voice is so unexpected that she jumps in surprise. "We're going to have to establish a few...ground rules."

Eleanor blinks. "Ground rules?" He couldn't have startled her more if he'd confirmed Carol's earlier theory of his homosexuality.

He nods, brow creased with the burden of intense thought. "We can't just plunge into this blindly like a couple of imbeciles."

"Of course not," she says. "We 'ave a very long friendship on the line." She suddenly feels very silly for thinking he had been about to label her as a friend, and with that alleviation, comes her ability to speak openly. "But what exactly are you thinkin', love?"

"Honesty, for one thing," Sweeney takes a large gulp of his scotch and winces. "Lying didn't work out very well for either of us the first time around, if I recall."

She gives a barely perceptible nod of her head, biting down on her bottom lip and she is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn't notice the way his eyes linger on the action for split-second too long. "Same goes for you too," she says, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white with the strain. "An' things 'ave to stay the same between us. If you're bein' a prick, I'll be sure to mention it to ya, and if I'm gettin' on your nerves, then tell me like ya usually would."

He smirks lightly. "I don't think that will be a problem, pet."

Eleanor makes a face at this. "Well what about this mornin', when ya didn't rant about the coffee grounds. You always rant about the coffee grounds."

He stifles a chuckle. "Is that what's bothering you? Eleanor, I'm tired of hearing myself talk about the damn coffee. It does no good. If you truly wanted to have it in the apartment, you'd make it a priority like those bloody twinkies that are always lying around." She fidgets slightly in her seat, eyes downcast as she studies an imperfection on the wooden surface of the table. He notices she is being unusually quiet, and knows this can only mean she isn't saying something she wants to say. "What?" He almost always regrets asking her this question, but somehow, he always manages to fall right into the trap anyway.

Eleanor slowly tears her eyes from the table and picks at an invisible speck of lint on her shirt sleeve. "W-what about Lucy?" She asks softly. Nellie catches a glimpse of the stricken expression on his face and quickly glances away. When he speaks however, his voice is much softer than she had expected.

"She's gone, Eleanor," he says quietly. "It's time I accepted that." He doesn't sound distant like he usually does when he speaks of his late wife, and it gives Nellie hope that he is still here with her, not almost two hundred years away, in another life. "I've spent half of eternity grieving for her, it's time to move on. I-I think she would want it that way."

Tracing a pattern on the gleaming table top with her index finger, Eleanor still refuses to meet his gaze but she feels his eyes burning holes into her anyway. "Life is for the alive,"she whispers, almost to herself, and the phrase brings her back to a barber's shop on Fleet Street, standing behind the man she'd adored for so long, willing to give her soul if he would just notice her.

The clinking of ice against Sweeney's glass as he takes another swig of alcohol brings her back to the present, and she looks up to find him eyeing her warily. "And stop leavin' your wet towels on the bathroom floor," she says peevishly, raising her voice slightly and hoping her tone is light enough to break the ice between them. "Put 'em in the clothes basket where they belong!"

Over the rim of his glass, he fixes her with a hard stare but she can tell he is grateful for the change of subject. "If I put them in the clothes basket, your stupid dog will only jump in it and take a bloody nap! He drools, Eleanor. It's disgusting."

"Oh an' it's so much more sanitary to leave 'em lyin' around on the floor, is it?" She snaps, and he sighs.

"Keep your dog away from the basket and I'll put the damn towels in it," he offers, and he hardly sounds like there is room for negotiation.

"Fine," she relents, crossing her arms over her chest. He gives her a triumphant smirk and she bristles slightly. "Well is that it? Is there anythin' else you'd like to add, your highness?"

Sweeney seems to think on it for a moment before holding up a finger as if struck by an idea and she instantly recognizes the playful air about him for the rarity that is. "Yes, actually. I demand breakfast in bed every morning or I'm calling off the whole affair."

She arches an eyebrow at him and he squints at her in return, full of mock sincerity. "I'll agree to that if I never 'ave to watch Rambo or Terminator ever again."

He leans in ever-so slightly across the table, and Eleanor mimics his movement. "I'll agree to _that _if you let me read your romance novels." His brief stint as a lawyer so long ago is evident to her now, as he bargains for the better deal of the two of them. "You're very stingy with them."

"No," she says immediately, and they're still inching closer across the table. "Tha's not part of the deal."

"It is now," Sweeney counters.

She looks exasperated, leaning on her elbows. "Why do you care so much about the bloody books?"

"Because you keep them from me," he says matter-of-factly.

"Always wantin' what you can't have, love, " Nellie shakes her head with a simpering grin. "S'not healthy."

"I could learn something from those delightfully wicked tales." He makes a wounded face, mocking her. "I'm trying to better myself, Eleanor, and you're hindering my education."

"Well," she sighs, a devilish twinkle in her eyes. "It seems we are at a stalemate - you want 'em and I won't let you 'ave 'em. I suppose we'll 'ave to call the 'ole thing off now."

Their faces are just a breath away now, noses almost touching, and he leans into her, resting his weight on his elbows to keep his balance. "Pity," he murmurs. "Your bed is infinitely more comfortable than mine."

"So the truth comes out, does it?" Eleanor smiles. "You only want me for my feather pillows."

His hand finds its way of its own volition to the side of her face, thumb absently stroking her cheekbone and she cannot fight off the shiver that courses through her whole body. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out this way, my dear."

Tired of his charade, Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Are you quite through, Mr. Todd?" This comes out much breathier than she'd meant for it to sound but he seems to get the hint that she is annoyed, despite the husky quality to her voice.

His gaze locks on hers, brown eyes meeting brown eyes, and he gives her a slow grin that turns her world topsy turvy, nearly making her lose her balance. "Quite." Their lips meet for the first instant since last night, and it feels just as lovely as Eleanor remembers, his mouth soft and inviting on hers. He tastes like the scotch he has been drinking and for once, she isn't repelled by the flavor. She feels his hand slide from her cheek to cup her neck and smiles against his lips. The combination of his warm hand resting lightly on her neck and his rough kiss on her mouth is enough to leave her feeling dizzy, drunk on his affections.

Pulling away briefly, she says, "What do you say we go home an' I let you borrow one of my feather pillows for your bed tonight? See if you sleep better, eh?"

His glare is ineffective with the way he leans in to brush his lips against hers again. "It has less to do with feather pillows and more to do with a certain readhead, if you must know," he growls into her ear.

"Jessica Rabbit?" She asks innocently as he pulls her up from her seat and pushes her towards the door to the bar. "Darlin', I had no idea she was your type."

They step outside into the warm night air and over the sound of car horns and the mingled voices of the populace, he says, "Didn't you say I'm to be honest about when you are getting on my nerves?"

She nods, already knowing she is going to come to regret asking him to be honest about this specific idiosyncrasy of hers. But life with Sweeney Todd proves to be much like life on the schoolyard - no takesies backsies.

"You're beginning to annoy me," he says, his warm hand on the small of her back softens his words as he guides her through the crowded streets, ignoring her pout. "So kindly stop talking, my pet."

As they walk home that night, Sweeney's hand manages to find Eleanor's. She looks up at him in bewilderment when she feels his fingers enclose around her own, but he keeps his steady gaze straight ahead as if this action is nothing out of the ordinary. She never would have taken him for much of a hand-holder, although she can't help but notice how snugly her hand fits inside his own.

She knows it's a silly notion before the thought even leaves her head, but she contemplates the possibility that perhaps her hand had been made to fit so perfectly in his. Almost like fate. And who's to say it isn't? If Fate exists, it could very well have a hand in bringing them together, in giving them an eternity to find each other. The thought of eternity used to bother her, but now, with the warmth of his fingers entwined with her own, she thinks that living forever this way might not be such a terrible thing.

_--_

_Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart... _

Watching the couple walk home that night, hands interlaced between them, Urd has never been more proud of her mortals. To see them discussing things like the adults they are instead of arguing like children is enough to make her want to do her own happy dance, but being the infinite being she is, she refrains from such frivolities.

It brings tears to her eyes to think that once again they will spend the night together, rather than apart. They are two lonely people who need each other. They crave affection like water, though she doubts either of them realize it. She smiles to herself. Once they have it, they'll understand how much they need it, she is sure of that.

Skuld peers over her sister's shoulder with a grin. "At least they're being sensible about it, talking openly like the two hundred year old beings they are."

"It shows how serious they are," Verdandi offers, absentmindedly smoothing her skirts. She seems to have regained her air of quiet dignity overnight, and Urd now has a hard time picturing her frolicking about with Skuld in celebration, even though it was only roughly twenty-four hours ago.

"It does," Urd murmurs her agreement, entranced by the pair. She makes it a habit never to envy anyone, especially not humans, but at this particular moment in time, she makes an exception. The easy way they carry on a conversation makes her wish for someone beside her sisters to confide in, the way Todd pulls Lovett closer to him on an overly crowded street corner makes her long for someone who wants to protect her. But like most things, this is a fleeting desire that fades just as quickly as it had come, leaving only her former elation over the pair finally starting to take some responsibility and make things right.

* * *

A/N-Sorry this is a little late guys, I've been a tad busy! Okay, the quote is from Marcus Aelius Aurelius. Since I'm completely dense and didn't mention the title of the music video I mentioned in the last chapter, it's called Nights I Can't Remember. Sorry 'bout that:D Also, I just want to take a minute to say thank you SO much for all the reviews from the last chapter, the response was overwhelming and your encouragement really meant a lot. Also, I realize I should have been doing this before now, and I don't know why I haven't, but thanks to my unsigned reviewers. I can't send you a review reply, so thanks a million for your encouragement and support:

MK-The imagery of Sweeney and Eleanor sneaking glances at a huge elephant in the middle of their apartment had me cracking up, thanks for that. And I really appreciate your continuous reviews, I always look forward to them:)

Bloody Pumpkinhead-I think my chapter title completely gave away my intentions before anyone could read it. I'm glad you liked the movie scene, I had a lot of fun writing it. Thanks for the review!


	14. No Fun Without A Good Scare

Passing Strange

Summer has come and gone, leaving autumn in its wake. The asphalt stops sizzling with heat, the ground cools, and the leaves begin to turn beautiful oranges, yellows and reds, falling to the ground and crunching beneath Sweeney Todd's boots as he makes his way across campus after his last class of the day. The chilly October air reminds him of London, and the way the damp atmosphere clings to the skin, creeping into his bones and chilling him right down to the core. It permeates everything, taints every aspect of one's life with the icy breath of the coming winter.

It has only been a few weeks since that night at the bar, when he and Eleanor had agreed upon the terms of their relationship, and so far things have been better than he ever thought they would be. If he is being completely honest with himself, he has to admit that part of him had thought a relationship with Eleanor Lovett would be a complete disaster.

He is also willing to admit that there are still times when things are a bit...odd. But he supposes that is to be expected from two people going from enemies, to friends, to lovers. Most things have managed to stay relatively the same however, save a few exceptions. For instance, instead of retiring to the guest bedroom every night, Sweeney finds himself in Eleanor's bed with her head on his shoulder. Instead of reading until his eyes are too tired to focus on the page, his nightly routine consists of watching her fall asleep, her hair tickling his jaw, feeling her breaths slow to the deep and even pace that comes with sleep, before finally shutting his eyes and surrendering to dreams as well.

As Sweeney walks through their apartment door that evening and is greeted by the sight of a basset hound lying on the floor, slobbering on a chew toy, he is reminded of another thing that has changed. Louie no longer sleeps in Eleanor's bed, or even in her room, but on a dog bed at the end of the hall. Sweeney takes immeasurable pleasure in this, but the dog seems to know why it has been downgraded to the hallway and has since brought the war between professor and mutt to a whole new, elevated level.

Sweeney frowns as he realizes Louie isn't slobbering all over a chew toy, but rather, one of his leather boots. Growling to the point where he is practically baring his teeth like the dog on the floor, he leans down and yanks his shoe from Louie. Disdainfully holding the shoe up and away from his person, Sweeney regards the shoe laces dripping with drool and gags.

Turning sharp eyes to the dog, he sneers, "This means war, mutt."

"Darlin' are you threatenin' the dog again?" Eleanor calls from the kitchen and Sweeney is so startled at the sound of her voice that he drops the shoe, arms falling to his sides. Louie takes this opportunity to scurry over as fast as his short legs will carry him and snatch up his prize, running off down the hallway.

Sweeney glares after him, too tired to chase the dog around the apartment for a shoe he'll never wear now anyway. Instead, he meanders in the direction of the kitchen to find Eleanor standing over the stove, stirring something. "I don't threaten the dog," he gripes, putting his briefcase on the counter.

She turns to him with a knowing smile. "Right, so you were in there declarin' war against yourself, then?"

"Why are you home so early?" He asks, pointedly ignoring her last comment.

Eleanor turns back to the stove and picks up a salt shaker, shaking it over the contents of the pot. "Way to make a lady feel welcome," she says teasingly.

She freezes mid-stir when she feels him walk up behind her, arm sliding around her waist and pulling her into him. He presses his lips to the back of her neck and her grip on her wooden spoon becomes so slack that she drops it into the boiling pot. She barely notices, too wrapped up in the sweet smell of aftershave and leather. His fingers dance over stomach before settling at her hips. "Feeling welcome yet?" He asks into her ear, and she fights to keep her body from quivering at the sound of his voice.

"Y-yes, I believe so, love," she breathes, and it takes a very serious effort on her part to even manage that much.

"Good," he says, abruptly letting her go and leaning over the stove, sniffing. "What is that?"

"Priest," she says, almost automatically, still dazed from their close encounter.

He looks up at her quizzically. "What?"

Eleanor blinks, shaking her head. "Um, new spaghetti sauce recipe. What was that?"

"What was what?" He asks, poking experimentally at a tomato in the sauce.

She gestures between the two of them. "You just tried to seduce me against the oven and now you're leavin' me 'igh an' dry, that's what!"

He frowns, looking down at the sauce. "Well...I'm hungry."

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor snatches the spoon from him and swats his hand away. "Go sit down, s'almost done." He turns to take a seat on a barstool at the counter and she mutters, "Bloody frustratin' man."

When he is happily sipping a glass of wine with a plate of spaghetti in front of him, Eleanor deems it the right time to broach the subject she's been struggling with all day. Holding a slip of paper between her fingers, she watches Sweeney carefully, absentmindedly sipping her own wine.

"So," she begins, and inwardly winces because he will immediately be on his guard when she begins a conversation with 'so'. "You plannin' anythin' special tomorrow?"

He pauses in the middle of taking a bite to his mouth, and lowers his fork to his plate. "Not really. Why?"

He sounds suspicious, so Eleanor shrugs nonchalantly. "Oh, just wonderin' if you 'ad any plans, that's all."

Deciding he isn't in immediate danger of being forced to do something he doesn't want to do, Sweeney goes back to his meal. "I have a few papers left to grade but that's all."

She grins, showing him the invitation in her hand. "Excellent. So you won't mind comin' with me to a Halloween party Nate and 'is wife are throwin' tomorrow tonight?"

Choking on a bite halfway down his throat, Sweeney hurriedly reaches for his wine glass, gulping it down. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tries not to notice Eleanor hiding her smile behind her hand and manages to regain his composure. "That wasn't fair, you tricked me."

Eleanor removes her hand from her mouth, smiling openly at him now. "All's fair in love an' war, dear."

"Eleanor, you know I hate parties," he says. "Besides, isn't tomorrow awfully short notice?"

She gives him a guilty look and he narrows his eyes at her. "I've 'ad the invitation for weeks. I just didn't show it to you 'cause I knew you'd try to find an excuse to get out of it." He gapes at her and she rushes to explain herself. "It's a costume party and I know you 'ate even regular parties, let alone ones where you 'ave to dress up but I really wanted to go and you know 'ow much I love Nate and 'is wife! I want them to meet you! And 'sides, I'm just gonna wear one of my old gowns, you can wear some of your old clothes so s'not like you'll be in costume. Please, love?" She takes a deep breath, winded from saying so much in one breath but as soon as she recovers herself, she gives him her best hopeful look, brown eyes pleading.

As annoyed as he is, Sweeney can't suppress a small smile. The sneaky little minx has gotten the best of him again, and he is growing to admire her for it. "This is important to you, is it?" He asks slowly, and she nods. Sweeney sits back in his seat leisurely, folding his hands over his stomach and closing his eyes. "Then persuade me." He opens one eye to peer at her challengingly.

For a moment, Eleanor can only gape at him in bewilderment before a vindictive smirk settles across her lips. Rising from her chair, she moves languidly to his side of the dining room table, placing her hands on his shoulders as she lowers herself to his lap, straddling him. If he wants to be persuaded, she'll use her feminine powers of persuasion to do just that.

Surprised, he opens his eyes fully to look up at her, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

She leans down, face hovering over his invitingly. Licking her lips, she holds his steady gaze with her own. She waits a good few seconds, building up his anticipation before she finally presses her lips to his and his response is immediate. As he opens his mouth against hers, his hands find her waist, gripping tightly and pulling her nearer. Eleanor moves her hands from his shoulders to his chest, rubbing in slow, soothing circles that immediately relax his death-grip on her. Pulling away from his lips, she begins kissing along his jaw line, proceeding to the hollow beneath it and slipping out her tongue for good measure. She feels his pulse racing at her touch and smiles to herself as he squirms beneath her.

Sliding her lips back to his jaw, she places one last kiss there and then brushes his ear with her mouth; he shivers as he feels her hot whisper. "I'll give you five dollars for every person you _don't _growl at."

Shocked to his senses again, Sweeney stares as Eleanor straightens in his lap, looking down at him primly. "What?" He manages to spit out, sufficiently addled by her powers of persuasion.

She smiles, a provocative smirk that makes him shift uncomfortably against her. "If you come with me to this party, I'll make it interestin' for you. I'll give you five dollars for every person you don't growl at like a bloody bear."

Regarding her with a hint of interest, Sweeney tries to clear the lust-induced haze his mind has become in order to think clearly. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

Tilting her head to the side, she concedes, "Maybe. Are you above a bribe?"

"Not always," he answers, eyes drawn to the bare thigh revealed to him in the pencil skirt she'd chosen for the day. "What are the stakes?"

Brightening now that he is deciding to play along, Eleanor purses her lips in thought. "You go, _in _costume," she emphasizes, "and I'll give you five dollars every time you're sensibly polite."

"Make it ten," he counters, not about to let her have her way.

She squints at him, toying idly with his black necktie. "Seven dollars and I'll throw in a massage. An' if you end up with less than thirty dollars by the end of the night, you pay me and _I_ get the massage."

"Fine," he bites out, as if she has just handed him the biggest burden he will ever bear.

Smiling brightly, Eleanor slides from his lap and wanders back to her side of the table, picking up her glass of wine.

Feeling oddly unsatisfied, Sweeney stares glumly at his plate, no longer hungry for food. He looks to Eleanor, watching as she goes about her meal like she hadn't been in his lap just seconds ago. "You're a tease," he accuses darkly.

Around a mouthful of wine, Eleanor counters, "An' you're a manipulative bastard. We're a perfect match, love."

For once, Sweeney cannot argue with her.

_--_

The following night, Sweeney is reluctant to go home, knowing that when he does, he will have to put on clothes he hasn't worn since the 1800's and drive to a country house outside the city for a Halloween party he has no interest in. The only thing that keeps his feet headed toward their apartment is that when he wins this bet with Eleanor, he'll have a massage to look forward to.

When he walks through the door, he finds Eleanor in her bedroom, leaning toward the mirror over her dresser, applying the last of her lipgloss. She sees him through the mirror and turns to face him, accompanied by the rustle of fabric. She has already put on her costume, and he recognizes it as an old gown of hers from their days on Fleet Street. As she nervously reaches up to fluff at the curls piled on top of her head, he dimly notices she has even managed to find her old black lace gloves. For the most part, he can only bring himself to stare stupidly as she adjusts her corset, turning back to the mirror to make any last finishing touches.

"What do you think?" She asks, twirling playfully just to feel her skirts whirl about her ankles.

Blinking, Sweeney clears his throat. "Nice," he says vaguely, when truth be told, he wants to ask her how he'd managed to keep his hands off of her for as long as he did.

"Just '_nice_'?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow as she makes her way toward him. He can tell by the look on her face that she knows she looks better than 'nice'. "You've lived 'ow long now an' you still don't know 'ow to compliment a woman?" Standing in front of him now, she slides her arms around his neck and looks up at him. "Wanna try that again?"

He pretends to think for a moment before saying, "What about 'alright'?" She shakes her head, sending a glare his way. "Pretty?" She wrinkles her nose. Finally giving in, Sweeney lowers his head and suggests lowly, "Enchanting? Stunning? Beautiful? Any of those working for you, pet?"

Eleanor gives him a coy smirk, eyes dancing at his words, however prompted they might have been. "I think I'll take all of the above."

She moves to turn from him and finish getting ready but he catches her wrist as she pulls away. "Do we really have to go?" He draws her into him, hands resting on her tiny waist. "I'm sure we could find other ways to pass the time besides going to a party out in the country." His lips find her neck and her breath hitches in her throat. "Come on Nellie," he murmurs into the scented skin of her neck.

Up until this point she had lost herself in the way his words seem to roll off his tongue like silk, and the feel of his muscled chest against hers, but when he uses her nickname, she is brought crashing back to the present, eyes snapping open. He so rarely uses the nickname, but when he does, it is sure to garner her attention. She glowers up at him. "It's either Nate's party or the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village in a few weeks."

He growls low in his throat and Eleanor makes a clucking noise with her tongue. "Uh uh, love. That's not goin' to win you any money tonight."

"The bet said I had to be civil to other guests, you never said anything about yourself," he clarifies, eyeing the outfit she has put out on the bed for him.

"Well excuse me for thinkin' it was implied," she snaps, turning back to the mirror. "Now put on those clothes. We're goin' to be late."

"Wouldn't want that," Sweeney mutters under his breath.

Eleanor leaves the room to put out Louie's food for the night and when Sweeney comes out of the bedroom, she has a sudden flashback to a murderous barber pacing his shop wielding a razor, glaring at her when she came in to deliver his breakfast. Swallowing, Eleanor walks up to the former barber and adjusts his cravat, smiling thinly. "There you are, love."

"Let's get this over with," he mumbles and she sighs, feeling as though she is dragging along an unruly child rather than the man she is sharing a bed with.

The drive out of the city to Nathan's country house is a long one for the two occupants of the rented car. Sweeney passes the time tapping his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, still pouting, and Eleanor uses the confined space to her advantage, annoying her companion with her song selections and singing along with the radio whenever a particularly filthy rap song comes across the airwaves.

Pulling up into the circular driveway as the sun begins to set, Sweeney switches off the engine and turns to Eleanor. "How long do we have to be here? I need something to look forward to."

Eleanor turns her eyes skyward. "Oh for heaven's sake. It's a party, not a bloody torture chamber." Gathering her skirts, she opens her car door, setting off the indoor light. "No one is askin' you to be the life of the party. Just stand around and be civil."

Stepping onto the wrap-around porch that creaks comfortingly under her light steps, Eleanor can see through the windows how crowded the house has become, and she idly wonders how many people from the hospital have shown up. Not seconds after she presses the doorbell, the front door swings open and they are welcomed with open arms into the swarming mass of party-goers.

"Ellie, I knew you'd make it," Nathan pulls her into a one-armed hug and his wife hands her and Sweeney a cup of punch.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, dear," Eleanor pats his cheek affectionately before turning and reaching out for Sweeney's hand, pulling him into the group from where he stands on the sidelines. "Nate, I want you to meet my- " She falters suddenly, unsure. What is she supposed to call him? Her boyfriend? Her partner-in-crime? Her partner? Her attempted murderer? Her special friend?

"Sweeney Todd," the man in question finishes for her, sending her an inquiring glance.

"Ah," Nathan smiles knowingly. "The man himself. I've heard a lot of gossip about you. Between Carol and Ellie gabbing all day, I feel like I know everything about you." He laughs, and Eleanor elbows Sweeney discreetly when she senses a sneer making its way across his face.

"Massage," she murmurs a reminder through her teeth, and he changes his facial expression to the most pleasant he can muster. She can only grin at how forced it looks and as Nate and his wife wander off to mingle with their other guests, Eleanor spots Carol hurrying toward her in a french maid costume, dragging with her a man dressed as a butler. "Carol's comin' this way so be nice." She turns to Sweeney, not caring that the look she is giving him falls under the category of begging.

The look on his face morphes into one of complete horror. "Isn't that the woman with the ability to undress me with her eyes?" He asks, and Eleanor has to stifle a giggle at the trepidation in his voice.

"She'll hardly be hittin' on you tonight," she whispers. "She 'as 'er fiancé with 'er."

"Like that's never stopped a woman before," he mumbles and slips his arm loosely around her waist. Normally, Eleanor would have thought this a sweet gesture, but now she knows he is only doing it so Carol will leave him alone.

Carol finally reaches them, stopping to adjust her fishnet stockings, before looking up at them, grinning from ear to ear as she brandishes her feather duster. "Guess what I am," she asks, laughing.

"A nun," Eleanor deadpans and Sweeney snorts next to her.

Ignoring them, Carol takes Eleanor by the hands, and steps back to get a good look at her. "Oh my gosh, I'm so jealous. Victorian period clothing!" She fingers the lace of the dress, in awe. "This is gorgeous! Is that an actual whalebone corset?" Eleanor nods. "I can't believe how authentic this dress looks! Which costume shop did you go to?" Carol gasps. "Oh, it was that one on 72nd wasn't it? Ugh, I _knew _I should have gone there!"

"Yes," Eleanor glances up at Sweeney with a knowing smile. "That one on 72nd."

"Listen," Carol says, leaning in. "I need you to help me out in the bathroom. My bustier needs adjusting." She glances at Sweeney with a sweet smile. "And how are you, Professor Todd?"

Eleanor watches Sweeney swallow uncomfortably and grins. " 'E's jus' lovely," she pats his arm. "I'll be back in a tick love, make nice with Tom while I'm gone."

Before Sweeney can object, she disappears into the crowd with her blonde sidekick and he is left with a man he doesn't know. Turning uneasily to look at the man standing just as awkwardly next to him, Sweeney clears his throat. "Your fiancé, is it?" Tom nods, giving him a nervous smile, and Sweeney is struck by how different the man's personality is from Carol's. "Do you find her as frightening as I do?" He asks, genuinely curious.

Tom scoffs lightly. "At least you don't live with her."

At this thought, Sweeney can only shudder. "My condolences, lad."

For the remainder of their wait, the two men are mostly silent, but it is much more comfortable than it had previously been. Sweeney is just beginning to feel claustrophobic around all the unfamiliar people when he finally spots Eleanor pushing her way through the crowd.

"I think that punch is spiked," she remarks on her return. "Frankenstein just tried to feel me up on my way over 'ere!" She laughs when Sweeney's glaring eyes begin searching out the crowd for the offending ghoul. "Come on, love. A few of us are gonna try and make our way through the corn maze in the backyard."

He frowns. "It's dark, you'll get lost."

Taking his arm, she begins tugging him toward the door. "That's half the fun, silly man."

In the span of a few minutes, Sweeney finds himself in the middle of a corn maze, alone with Eleanor in the dark of night, and while he can hear the others in different parts of the maze, he cannot see them.

Eleanor is clutching at his arm as they stumble blindly through the labyrinth with nothing but a lone flashlight. "Can I ask why you thought this would be fun?" Sweeney grumbles, directing his flashlight to a suspicious rustling in the corn. It turns out to be only a cat, a tabby with eyes glowing in the dark.

Cooing at it, Eleanor bends down to scoop it up into her arms. "Oh aren't you adorable?" She holds the cat up to get a better look, smiling when the tabby nuzzles her cheek and purrs contentedly. "Such a cute little pussy cat."

"Don't get any ideas," he says, feeling the question 'can we keep it?' is on the tip of her tongue. "One animal in the apartment is more than enough."

"Apparently not," she says teasingly. "I kept _you _even after Louie moved in, didn't I?"

"You're not funny," he snaps, and she goes back to cooing at the cat.

She is satisfied with focusing her attention on the animal for a few more minutes while he tries to navigate through another one of her bad ideas, but then she looks up suddenly, expression thoughtful in the dim glow of the flashlight. "You know how earlier, I tried to introduce you to Nathan and 'is wife, but stopped?"

He nods, then realizes she probably isn't looking at him but at the cat. "Yes, and?"

"Well," she prompts. "I stopped because I dunno what to call you."

"Call me?" He furrows his brow in confusion and she sighs.

"Y'know, the _status of our relationship_," she hisses quietly, as if someone else might hear but Sweeney is beginning to think they are the only ones left in this godforsaken maze. "I feel too old to call you my boyfriend."

"Then don't," he suggests, squinting into the dark. It looks like a turn up ahead, but as they grow closer, he realizes it is just another dead end and takes Eleanor by the elbow, turning her around with him to go back the way they'd come.

She huffs at his lack of an opinion on the matter. "Partner makes it sound like we're denied our right to marriage in most states. An' special friend sounds like a Barney the Dinosaur episode on PBS!"

"Would you stop prattling on so I can think straight," he snaps, and she quiets immediately.

They make a turn to the right, then to the left, find themselves at another dead end, and backtrack to their last turn. "I just don't know 'ow to introduce you to people," Eleanor continues as though he hadn't told her just minutes ago to shut up.

"You need a definition of our relationship?" He asks, stopping in the middle of the cornfield to look at her.

She squints in the glow of the flashlight. "No," she says dubiously. "But I would _like _one."

"Eleanor," he begins, trying to remain calm. "We have known each other for nearly two hundred years. We were tenant and landlady, business partners, enemies, friends and now we're sleeping together. I don't care what sort of name you want to give it. Call me your bloody man-whore for all I care, just stop talking about it!"

Biting down on her bottom lip, she stares up at him. "Callin' you my man-whore is 'ardly appropriate for polite society." Giving up, Sweeney takes her by the arm again and continues stalking through the cornfield, growing increasingly frustrated. "Are you lost?"

"No," he answers, gritting his teeth.

"Are you sure? I could 'ave sworn we just passed that corn stalk fifteen minutes ago," she says, and he can practically _hear _the sly grin in her voice.

"You're not - "

"Funny," she parrots dutifully. "I know, love." If she could see him now, a murderous gleam in his eye, teeth bared, she would not think this so amusing. "Y'know, I forgot 'ow much I despise these bloody corsets." Her monologue continues without regard to his particular mood, and he lets go of her arm to see if he can peer over the top of the maze to find the way out.

"No one said you had to tie it so tightly," he says distractedly, cursing under his breath when he can't see over the top.

She frowns, scratching the tabby cat in her arms behind the ears. "Just wanted to see if I could still fit into it."

"Of course you can," he says peevishly. "You're exactly the same size you were hundreds of years ago!" He directs the flashlight at her to see her beaming at him, and although he doesn't understand what is so special about what he'd said, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers, lacing her fingers through his.

"Alright," she sighs. "Let's see if we can get outta 'ere. Didn't 'appen to bring a map with ya, did you, love?"

"No," he says dryly. "I'm afraid the front desk was all out."

Taking the flashlight from him, Eleanor balances it and the cat, marching determinedly in a random direction. Sweeney sighs. "You're only going to succeed in getting us even more lost, Eleanor." She disappears around a corner, and he follows the sound of her rustling skirts to catch up. "Eleanor, would you - " He stops abruptly, seeing Eleanor in front of him, grinning like a Cheshire cat and standing in the middle of Nathan's backyard, outside the cornfield.

"Found it," she says timidly, knowing what a blow to his ego this will be.

As he stalks past her with a stormy expression, he snarls, "I made it easier for you."

This reply is very much like the age-old 'I loosened the jar first' argument, but Eleanor only nods sympathetically, hurrying to catch up with him. "Of course ya did, dear. An' I was just followin' your brilliant example." When she follows this statement with a fit of giggles, Sweeney pouts for the remainder of the evening, but Eleanor knows it's all a part of having a relationship with any man on earth - they never stop to ask for directions.

_--_

He supposes it had been his own fault in the end. Leaving out his briefcase on the coffee table is practically like the thing vocally begging Eleanor to snoop, and of course, it doesn't help matters that the damned flyer had been sticking out, half in and half out of the case. Like a red flag waving her down. How appropriate.

In honor of Halloween, the college is planning a Scarefest movie night in the university theater. Students and faculty were invited to bring friends, blankets and pillows, and the popcorn would be provided. Eleanor, being the social butterfly she is, naturally thought this sounded just marvelous. Now, while Sweeney is trying to grade his papers at the dining room table, she is in the midst of convincing him to attend.

"No," he shakes his head firmly. "You're not talking me into this one, Eleanor."

Pushing away a wayward auburn curl, Eleanor props her elbows up on the mahogany table top, frowning. "But love, this sounds like fun! 'Ow can you not want to go and see horror movies? 'S downright inhuman, it is."

Red pen poised above Kurtis Russell's essay on the Salem Witch Trials, Sweeney sighs heavily. "I have no desire to sit through half a dozen horror flicks with people I am forced to see at work every day."

Eleanor leans forward, opens her mouth to protest, but he beats her to the chase.

"You are always dragging me to things I don't want anything to do with," he says, expertly writing a neat 'D' in the corner of the paper in bright red ink. "But this time I'm putting my foot down. No Scarefest."

She sighs, slumping back in her chair, defeated. "Well...what if we 'ave our own Scarefest?" Eleanor smiles, trailing her foot up his leg underneath the table. "Just you an' me, a bottle of wine and Freddy Kreuger." Her foot inches higher up his leg, sliding along his thigh. "What do you say, love?"

"I - " He stops to clear his throat when his voice comes out sounding strangled. "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea."

"Smashing," she says, obviously satisfied with herself.

He growls and shoves her foot from his lap in order to concentrate on the essays in desperate need of grading. How is it that even when she doesn't get her way, she still gets her way? Sweeney Todd is slowly coming to realize what every man in a relationship already knows, he is being trained to be a whipped puppy.

Their very own Scarefest commences the following night, when Eleanor comes home from work carrying a large stack of DVDs under one arm. "What did you do, buy out Blockbuster?" He asks as she tosses them into his lap. Picking them up, he flips through the collection of movies idly. "The Shining, Halloween, Psycho, Lost Highway, The Exorcist, Rosemary's Baby, The Sixth Sense, Nightmare on Elm Street, Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Friday the 13th." He glances up at her in disbelief as she struggles with a package of popcorn. "You can't possibly expect to watch all of these in one night?"

Eleanor smiles, finally using her teeth to yank open the plastic wrapping. "Nope. Five night rentals, love." Beginning to walk toward the kitchen, she says, "Pick one to watch first, I'll make the popcorn!" He shakes his head, finding her enthusiasm as irritating as ever.

They're in the middle of the second movie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, popcorn bowls and stray kernels littering the floor and candy wrappers and empty bottles of soda and beer on the coffee table. The living room is dark except for the glow of the television, on which the two people on the sofa are transfixed. Sweeney Todd sits very still, eyes glued on the television, and Eleanor sits next to him, legs in his lap, chewing nervously on her nails, eyes wide.

"Don't go in there," she whispers to the girl on the television, desperate to save her from her obvious fate. "Oh you stupid bloody girl, you're goin' to die now!"

Sweeney shoots her a glare and she closes her mouth promptly, going back to chewing her nails in anxious anticipation. He turns back to the screen just as the girl lets out a shrill scream, and he jumps noticeably, the beer bottle in his hand slipping from his grip and he scrambles to catch it again before it hits the floor. Having recovered his alcohol, he leans back against the sofa cushions and hears a soft giggle. Stealing a glance to his counter-part, he finds her holding a hand over her mouth, cheeks red from trying to contain her amusement. Hand tightening on the neck of his bottle, he fixes her with a contemptible glare. "I was _not _scared. I was startled. There's a difference, Eleanor."

Tears are pricking the corners of her eyes as she nods vehemently, hand still clamped over her mouth. "Yes, love," she squeaks out.

As he warily turns his eyes back to the movie after shooting her one last warning glance, he hears her quiet snickers and from the corner of his eye, he sees her body start to shake from her efforts. Turning on her with a disgruntled sigh, he snaps, "It's not that bloody funny."

She finally breaks into hysterics, laughter pouring from her mouth as she wipes away tears. "Oh I'm sorry dear," she breathes. "It's just...the look on your face." She giggles to herself and he returns his attention to the movie, arms crossed over his chest. "You goin' to pout now?" She asks, still giggling. His only answer is to shove her legs from his lap. Crawling toward him, Eleanor curls up on his lap, smiling into the heated skin of his neck. "I'm sorry, t'wasn't funny."

"No," he says, and he shifts against her. Seconds later, she feels a rain of popcorn pouring over her head, salt and kernels catching in her hair, her clothes, and pooling in her lap. She gapes at him in outrage, open mouthed. He smirks. "_That_ was funny."

"You bastard!" At the haughty look on his face, Eleanor reaches out and snatches his beer bottle from him before he can react, pouring its contents down the front of his white shirt. "Darlin', you should really be more careful with your drinks. It'll take forever to get that stain out."

Shocked by the cold beverage soaking his chest, he bites out tersely, "Harlot."

"Jerk."

"Conniving Jezebel!"

"Arrogant prick," she fires back.

They stare at each other for a full moment, eyes locked and neither of them moving. The look in Sweeney's eyes changes from that familiar vengeful glare to something else she can't identify, but the expression makes her stomach quiver. She licks her lips, tasting the salt from the popcorn bowl he'd dumped on her head, but as his mouth covers hers, all she can taste is the odd combination of beer and licorice. She closes her eyes with a sigh and wraps an arm around his neck, somehow knowing in the back of her mind, that Scarefest has been postponed indefinitely.

_--_

_Man does not control his own fate; the women in his life do that for him..._

Halloween is one of Urd's favorite human holidays, and she has waited in eager anticipation to see how her two favorite mortals will celebrate. She had been as reluctant as Todd to see them head off to a costume party, but she has to admit how very amusing it had been to see them dressed like the barber and the baker they used to be, traipsing around in a cornfield in the middle of the night. She smiles even now as she thinks of it.

Watching their small tiff on the sofa after Todd's startled jump during their movie night, Urd can only shake her head. Nearly two hundred and they still have moments where they act not a day over five years old.

Skuld leans over her sister's shoulder, peering at the two as well. "My money's on the redhead. She's scrawny but she can really pack a punch." Urd swats her away, smiling. She turns back to the pair to see a rather heated situation, and she waves the image away to give them their privacy.

"Things are going well?" Verdandi asks, and Urd can tell by the sound of her voice how much she is hoping for a positive answer.

Urd nods. "Things are going well." She stands, beginning to pace back and forth, her robes dusting the floor. "She gives him the spontaneity he needs, and he gives her the stability and sensibility she craves."

Verdandi looks puzzled. "So what's the matter?"

"Indeed," Skuld steps in front of her sister in an effort to make her stand still. "Why the pacing?"

Urd neatly sidesteps her sister to begin her pacing anew. "It's too perfect."

Verdandi lets out a soft laugh. "That's absurd, sister."

"It's not," Urd insists. "They're getting along, barely even arguing."

Skuld sighs. "Things aren't going well and you worry. Things _are _going well and you _still _worry. You're impossible to please!"

"I agree," Verdandi joins in. "They're acting the way they always have, only now they have the benefit of being a couple."

Urd bites down on her bottom lip, uncertainty evident in her expression. "I just don't know. Healthy couples fight, I've seen enough of them in my day to know. They still have things left unsaid, issues to get over! They're not even close to saying those three magic words!"

Realization dawning, Skuld takes a step back, waving her hands. "Oh no. You can't possibly be thinking what I think you are."

"Maybe," Urd ventures.

"You're going to get them to argue, aren't you?" Verdandi asks, crestfallen.

"Well I think it is for the best, really." Urd sighs. "Either I can stage one for them that they can eventually get over and that will bring them closer together, or I leave it to them and the tension mounts until it results in a huge blowout they may never recover from."

Skuld looks resigned, knowing once her sister has made up her mind, there is no use trying to change it. "Just know," she says with reluctance. "That I think this is not a wise decision."

"Duly noted," Urd answers distractedly, mind already occupied with scheming, the most smug and cunning grin making its way across her face.

* * *

A/N-Hey gals(at least I'm pretty sure you're all gals. If not, apologies)! How was your fourth of July weekend? Mine totally sucked. My weekend involved a trip to the ER, a nice IV and my first 'peeing in a cup' experience. Endless entertainment, right there. No fireworks and none of those awesome looking chocolate brownies:( Total bummer. Anyhow, just thought I'd explain the reason this chapter is late getting up is because I've been doped up on meds for days.LOL Oh, and the quote is by Groucho Marx;) Review!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-Thanks so much! I know it was mean of me to scare you all, but I couldn't help myself. Hopefully you'll forgive Sweeney for needing a caffeine fix;) Thanks for the review!

MK-Aw, thank you! I hope you're not disappointed with how their new relationship is coming along, it's difficult to keep them in character and still smooch.LOL Thanks for the review and I hope you had fun on your vacation!

lucyfer-I'm sure you're really "eager" for this chapter, with how long I made you wait, but hopefully you're still checking for updates and didn't give up on me:D Seriously though, your constant checking is awesome, I do that with a few stories I'm obsessed with in this fandom. Thanks SO much for the awesome review, and the blush-worthy compliments. I really appreciate it!


	15. Them's Fightin' Words

Passing Strange

Things had been going smoothly between them so he'd known it was only a matter of time before it happened. It happens to every couple, and they are no exception. The first fight. No matter how long one lives, no matter how much experience a person retains, there is still going to be the occasional tussle between two people living in close quarters. It doesn't help matters that the two individuals are Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett, two people from opposite ends of the spectrum, who at any given time will insult the other just as soon as kiss them. And as with all fights between couples, it happens quite unexpectedly and at the most inopportune moment. But then, is there ever an opportune moment to throw things at your significant other?

It had started off innocently enough, with Eleanor calling him on his lunch break. He'd known it was her the second his phone began ringing, because she'd done something to his phone so that every time she called, it played, _You're So Damn Hot_. He'd mocked her, saying _Twist and Shout _would be more appropriate. Now, reaching for his cell phone lying on the table as it chirps, he can only frown and wonder whether she'd been thinking of him or herself when she'd picked the song out.

"Yes?" He answers expectantly after he flips open the phone, holding it to his ear.

"Professor?" She asks in her best ditzy teeny-bopper voice. "I'm _so _glad I finally got a hold of you. There was somethin' you said in your last lecture that I didn't quite catch. Did you say you wore boxers or briefs?"

Putting his water bottle down before he chokes, Sweeney fiddles with the bottle cap and tries not to sound amused. "You would know better than anyone, dearest." She laughs and he feels a smile coming to his face that he quickly wipes away, replacing it with his usual stoicism. "What do you want?"

Eleanor sighs, and in the background he hears the muffled voices of Nathan and Carol. "I just wanted to ask if you'd care if I went over to Carol's after work. She and Tom got into a bit of an argument about the weddin' plans and I think she could use some girl time. You don't mind, do ya, love?"

She sounds hopeful and he sighs quietly. "Do I mind spending the evening with your disgusting dog? Yes. But give me permission to torture him while you're gone and I'll be fine."

Eleanor makes a disgruntled noise and he wishes he could see her, knowing she is probably scrunching up her noise and putting a hand on her hip. "Ya can't torment the dog. S'not humane."

"Since when have I bothered with humanity?" He asks idly, pushing away the tray of food. The meat is of unknown origin and he tends to shy away from unidentifiable meat, knowing from personal experience that it could have come from just about anywhere.

"Maybe I should just come home," she says and he catches the disappointment lingering in her voice, realizing she needs this just as much as she says Carol does.

As much as it pains him to think about being in the apartment with no one but Louie and sending Eleanor off with Carol, as much as he knows she'll probably stagger through the door at three in the morning, completely wasted from their 'girls night', he can't stand that tone in her voice. "Bloody hell, Eleanor," he says grudgingly. "Go out with your damn friend. I'll find something to do."

He doesn't so much find something to do as much as come home and sleep for two hours before getting up to eat a bowl of ice cream in front of Louie. He has no papers to grade this evening and he settles down on the sofa in the living room, remote in one hand, spoonful of ice cream in the other. He gives the spoon an exaggerated lick, eyeing the dog sitting next to him as it licks its lips, staring hungrily. Sweeney smirks and turns his attention back to the television, thoroughly enjoying this small but effective way of bothering the hound.

Over the sound of the television, he hears a key slide into the lock and looks up from the sofa as Eleanor walks through the door. Sweeney's grip on the remote slackens and he studies the expression on her face, trying to decide whether or not this particular mood bodes well for him. Before he can determine this, or ask why she is home so early, Eleanor drops her handbag by the door and heaves a great sigh. "I'll never 'ave a bucket list."

Brow furrowed, Sweeney regards her warily. "I'm...sorry?"

Leaning heavily against the door, Eleanor pushes disheveled curls away from her face. "Y'know, a bucket list. Like the book, an' the movie. The list of things you want to do 'fore you kick the bucket." He continues to stare and she rolls her eyes. "Carol and I watched the movie, an' it dawned on me that I'll never 'ave that. I'm never goin' to _die_."

Sweeney raises his eyebrows, casting his gaze to Louie, who is stealthily creeping closer to the bowl of ice cream in his lap. "Some people would see that as a good thing, my dear."

"Not me," she mumbles stubbornly, still not moving from her spot against the apartment door. "I...I want to live, not just _be_. Like that time when I was livin' in Spain and went to that runnin' of the bulls thing. That was fun." She throws up her hands. "I've been tellin' myself for thirty years that I'm goin' to do it again and I 'aven't!"

"Plenty of time for that," Sweeney mutters, glaring at the dog and jerking his bowl of ice cream from its sniffing nose.

Eleanor points a finger at him accusingly. "See, that's been my mind set. There will always be plenty of time, so I'm in no 'urry to do anythin'! That's not livin' and I'm sick of it." Back still against the door, she slides to the floor and puts her elbows on her knees. "I'm goin' to live forever."

"You're just now realizing this?" He asks with a hint of amusement. "I should think it would have become quite obvious by the time you reached one hundred and hadn't aged a day since thirty-six."

She ignores this, and he can hear the tears in her voice as she continues. "So what? We're goin' to be around until the end of the bloody world? The last 'uman bein 's on earth? We're goin' to be 'ere with the bloody cockroaches and twinkies?" She glances down at her fingers, laced together on her knees, sniffling. "I 'ate cockroaches."

"Twinkies don't last forever," Sweeney says absent mindedly, eyes on the very bloody fight taking place on the boxing network. "That's a myth."

She stares at him in disbelief. "Out of all o' that, you're focusin' on the _twinkies_?"

Hearing the note of hysteria in her voice, Sweeney finally seems to understand that she needs him to calm her down and focuses his attention on her slumped form. She has done this before, the last time she really contemplated their situation and had promptly burst into tears at the thought of living forever. She had gotten over it, and he knows she'll do the same now. Eleanor tends to go through this phase every fifty years or so, but she always ends up at the same place: acceptance.

"Eleanor, there's not much you can do about immortality. As far as I know, there isn't a cure." She sniffs, glaring at him for his sarcasm. "You want to run with bulls, do it, damn it. You don't need a bloody bucket list to decide what you want." He turns his attention back to the television while she thinks this over quietly and he doesn't bother mentioning that as long as he's around she won't be running with any bulls in Spain or wherever any time soon.

"I s'ppose I'm just afraid of bein' alone," she says after a few minutes, so softly that Sweeney has to strain to hear her. "I want a Carter or a Edward to experience things with."

"You won't be alone," he says, still lounging on the sofa. He turns from flicking through the television channels to fix her with a loaded glance. "I'll be there too."

"Oh yes," she mutters, smiling gently. "Livin' forever with a man who knows 'ow long twinkies take to expire. Absolutely smashing." He scowls at her and she stands, making her way over to him and dropping down onto his lap, taking his bowl. She takes the spoon from his hand and scoops out some ice cream, sliding the spoonful of chocolate into her mouth. His scowl deepens at this and as he opens his mouth to protest against her stealing of his food, she shoves the spoon past his parted lips, and the words die in his throat. "M'sorry for the meltdown."

"Just don't do it again for another hundred years," he grumbles, swallowing, and she reaches behind them to stash the bowl on the coffee table, leaning back down to press her lips firmly to his, her hand finding the back of his neck. Forgetting his annoyance for the time being, Sweeney settles his hands on her hips and shifts her closer to him. While he knows it's good for them to be spend time apart, he'd actually missed her this evening. It is strange to think that there had been a time in his life when he didn't come home to her unending chatter, or wake up tangled in her sheets.

When she pulls away, breathless, she smiles and says, "Help me with dinner?" She drags a reluctant Sweeney to his feet and they turn to find Louie with his front paws resting on the coffee table, nose in Sweeney's bowl as he devours what's left of the ice cream. "Louie," Eleanor scolds, swatting him away. She picks up the bowl and offers it teasingly to Sweeney. "Wanna finish it off, love?" He makes a face, looking nauseous at the thought and Eleanor giggles, leading him into the kitchen. "Turn the oven on for me, would you?" She asks, disappearing behind the refrigerator door.

They decide on chicken and Alfredo noodles, and Sweeney watches from his post at the counter as Eleanor flits about the kitchen, talking about the fight Carol had had with Tom and how they don't communicate, but Sweeney stops listening as soon as they word 'communication' leaves her mouth. He stays quiet, letting her talk because she feels a constant need to fill the silence, but he is content to simply stand by and study her as she goes about preparing dinner.

She looks terribly domestic standing over the stove in her worn jeans, barefoot with her mass of auburn curls falling in waves down her back. Humming to herself, a quaint tune that sounds vaguely familiar, Eleanor makes the mistake of walking past him and he reaches out for her faster than she can react, arm snaking around her waist and pulling her into him. She lets out a surprised yelp and looks up at him through wide eyes.

"You're wearing my shirt," he observes accusingly, fingering the collar of his white button up, so much more attractive on her petite frame.

She beams up at him, placing her smaller hand over his. "I was wonderin' when you'd notice. You don't mind, do ya?"

"I do." He says, raising his eyebrows at her timid expression. "Take it off."

Eleanor catches on quickly, her confused countenance turning mischievous. Backing away from him slowly, she raises her eyes to meet his, fingers poised over the top button. "An' if I don't?"

He advances on her like a lion stalking its prey, quickly backing her against the oven, placing one hand on either side of her as she tilts her face up to look into his eyes. It only takes him a second to realize he has placed his palm on a very hot burner, and he yanks his hand back, swearing vehemently.

Eleanor snorts, beginning to do up the buttons she'd managed to get undone. "You think _that _hurts? Try climbin' into the bloody thing and see 'ow it feels."

He turns on her before she can so much as blink, still cradling his hand like a wounded animal. The look on his face takes her by surprise, somewhere between outage and disbelief. "For God's sake Eleanor, would you get over it?" He snarls, and she immediately straightens, on the defensive.

"I find it 'ard to get over bein' burned alive," she says caustically, voice suddenly cold.

The atmosphere in the kitchen has gone from playful to frigid in the span of mere seconds, and as the two stand at opposite ends of the room, glaring daggers at each other it feels so familiar that it raises the hair on the back of Eleanor's neck.

Turning away from her as though no longer able to look her in the eye, Sweeney mutters, "It's in the past."

The statement sounds so ridiculous coming from him that Eleanor cannot control the derisive laugh that escapes her lips. "Who are you to lecture me about the past?" She asks, hands planted firmly on her hips. "You, the man whose entire existence was based upon revenge for somethin' that 'appened fifteen years ago!"

"At least I've gotten over it!" He raises his voice to match hers, fist slamming down onto the kitchen counter, and she hears a cookie jar rattle at the impact. "At least I'm not still talking about nearly two hundred years later."

"No," she says spitefully, suddenly very quiet. "You don't talk about it, and I'm not _allowed _to talk about it." She smiles bitterly. "Can't talk about your daughter, can't say your wife's name without it bein' awkward. I'm not supposed to watch I Love Lucy for 'eaven's sake! You won't even bloody consider a vacation to Australia!"

He stares at her incredulously. "After looking at the place as a punishment for so long it's kind of difficult to think of it as a vacation spot, Eleanor!"

"Fine," she says shortly. "But what about the other things? What about Lucy?"

He glances away. "What about her?"

Eleanor gestures to him, her point proven. "See? Ya can't even look at me when we talk about 'er. I can't listen to that Beatles song _Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds _around you because you get that look on your face!"

He grimaces, that lost puppy dog expression marking his features and she nods toward him knowingly.

"_That_ one. Do you know 'ow 'ard it is to avoid that song in the grocery store? They play that bloody album on a loop! Bloody woman 'as been dead for two centuries and she's still causin' me problems," Eleanor grumbles. "Talk about livin' in the past! At least I don't force you not to talk about ovens or make you change the bloody channel when a Sears commercial comes up on tv!"

She takes a deep breath, reigning herself in, and he gets the feeling she has plenty more to say on the subject that she isn't voicing.

"Don't talk to me about livin' in the past Sweeney Todd, because you're a permanent resident." Finished with this conversation, she turns back to the food, taking the noodles from the stove and turning off the oven in the tense silence blanketing the entire apartment. Tossing the wooden spoon she'd used to stir the noodles into the sink with a loud clatter, she massages her temple slowly and takes another deep breath. "Let's just...forget about it. All right?"

"Forget?" He says mockingly, a sneer apparent on his face as he toys with a dish towel. "It seems no one in this apartment ever forgets or forgives. Why start now?"

Hands gripping the cuffs of her (or rather, his) shirt, too long for her small arms but perfect for Sweeney's, Eleanor gives him a pleading look. "Come on love, just drop it. I don't want to fight."

"Why?" Sweeney questions, and his cruel smirk makes her take a step back. "No need to fear, Mrs. Lovett. No oven to shove you into this time."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than Eleanor picks up the small pan of chicken cooling on the counter and tosses the whole thing at his head. She knows it might have been overreacting a little, but she isn't about to let Sweeney Todd talk down to her, not anymore. Not again. He manages to step out of the way in time, but he looks stunned, staring at the pan lying face down on the floor, their dinner wasted. "Don't speak to me that way," she warns quietly. "I'm not your Lucy an' I won't stand for it."

His eyes flicker up to hers, and the cold stare he gives her is a look she hasn't seen in a very long time. One she didn't think she'd ever have to see again, but how wrong she'd been. "No, you're not Lucy," he replies scathingly, his voice deadly quiet. "And I'm not Benjamin, no matter how dearly you hold onto the notion."

Eleanor looks at him like he has just kicked a puppy, chin quivering dangerously and hot tears stinging her eyes. " 'Ow dare you." The silence between them is deafening as Eleanor watches him glare at the floor, unmoving.

He doesn't say a word and she knows he isn't going to apologize for a word he has said, she knows he meant every syllable. Shaking her head and blinking back angry tears, she strides purposefully out of the kitchen and through the living room. Stopping just long enough to stoop down and grab her shoes by the door, Eleanor walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her as hard as she possibly can.

_--_

The second the words left Sweeney Todd's mouth, he'd known it was the wrong thing to say. But something in him had been glad he'd said it, the part of him that had wanted to hurt her, to see her cry. With the slamming of the apartment door, the signal of Eleanor's exit, he comes back to himself, realizing what he has done. Blinking to clear the fog in his brain, Sweeney's eyes settle once again on the pan of chicken lying on the floor.

He supposes he'd deserved that.

Bending down to pick up the scattered pieces of chicken, Sweeney tries to block out any thoughts about the ramifications of bringing up Benjamin with Eleanor. He doesn't want to think about how thoroughly strained things between them are going to be now or how drastically the situation had escalated from him trying to undress her to screaming at each other.

With the chicken in the garbage and the pan soaking in the sink, Sweeney leans against the counter and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He wonders if he should go after her or let her cool off on her own, but when he remembers it is nearly eight o'clock at night and she is wandering around New York City by herself, he grabs his jacket and heads out to search for her, mind still swimming.

How things had gotten so out of hand, he'll never know. He wants to blame everything solely on Eleanor but he knows that isn't fair. She'd started it with her tart reply about the oven, but he thinks this has been brewing for some time, and it was only a matter of when it would happen. The blame rests on both of their shoulders, they carry the weight of the past together and he knows if they aren't careful, the past will get in the way of the future. It has happened to him before and he isn't about to let it happen again.

He finds her in Central Park, standing alone on Bow Bridge and staring forlornly out into the water. Keeping his footsteps light so as not to alert her of his presence, he joins her in leaning against the bridge, arms folded in front of him on the railing. She doesn't look at him and he likes to think that she'd known he would come after her, but as she hurriedly wipes at her cheeks, he knows she hadn't expected to see him here.

"Why are you in Central Park in the middle of the night?" He asks gruffly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Do you _want _to be mugged?"

"S'better than stayin' with you and yellin'," she snaps half-heartedly, her voice watery with tears. "Thought about goin' to Carol's but then I'd 'ave to explain that we'd been arguin' about your late wife an' you tryin' to kill me. Don't think that'd sit well with 'er."

He snorts in agreement, noticing that even when she's angry with him, Eleanor can't help but talk. Her voice is like second nature to him now and he's grateful she isn't one for the silent treatment. Her silence would surely be more maddening than her incessant talk.

"I don't want Benjamin," she whispers suddenly. She still hasn't turned to look at him, a fact he is starting to find unnerving and he has the sudden urge to look her in the eye.

"I know," he answers just as quietly, his hand finding hers in the space between them and he finally notices she is trembling. He doesn't understand the relief he feels when she doesn't pull away but moves closer.

Eleanor leans her head on his shoulder, full lips emitting a soft sigh. "I dunno," she sniffles. "Maybe it's just not meant to be. Maybe we're kiddin' ourselves, thinkin' we could 'ave even a semi-stable relationship."

Sweeney shakes his head firmly, fingers tightening around her own. "Don't say that," he says softly.

"Well what if it's true?"

"It's not." He sounds so sure of himself that Eleanor doesn't dare question him.

Instead, they stand on the bridge for a few more minutes, just watching the water beneath them, and Eleanor thinks about the time she'd dragged him here to get into a row boat. She smiles softly as she remembers losing her bracelet, and the shock of cold water rushing over her when she'd leaned too far out of the boat. Sweeney hasn't been in a boat with her since, but the memory of him drenched and glaring at her is enough to make up for his reluctance to ever be in water with her again.

"I forgive you," Eleanor whispers into the night, and she feels him stiffen next to her. "For what ya did, I mean. I did a long time ago."

"Then why do you keep bringing it up?" He asks after a brief pause, and she catches the hint of bitterness. "Do you think I like being reminded of it?"

"No," she says, her voice barely audible. "I guess it's just...a part of who I am now. S'hard to forget. I'm not tryin' to remind _you_, I'm tryin' to remind myself. I don't ever want to forget what betrayal feels like, that bein' dishonest does ya no favors." She sighs when she turns to look at him for the first time since he arrived and sees his pained expression. Eleanor recognizes it as wallowing in his own guilt, and she frowns in bemusement. "Didn't know it bothered ya so much, love."

Sweeney scoffs. "Of course it bothers me. Why wouldn't it bother me to think about killing the woman I -" He pauses, licks his lips and finishes softly, "the woman I care about."

"Thought I deserved it," she snips. "You told me that twenty years after ya did it."

"Things change," he shrugs.

"You don't," she shoots back with a look that dares him to challenge her.

"We already discussed this," he grouses. "I told you I no longer feel the urge to shove you into an oven, isn't that enough, woman?"

"Oh yes," she says sullenly. "Very reassurin'."

He sighs noisily and thinks his life would be much simpler if he just packed and went off again, only seeing Eleanor every ten years or so. But he isn't going to do that, he knows as well as she does that he isn't planning on leaving any time in the near or distant future. The bloody woman has ensnared him with her bright smiles and warm touch, he wants to hate her for it.

He doesn't.

It surprises him, how attached he is to her after such a short amount of time, especially after vowing to hate her for the rest of his life when he'd opened the bakehouse oven to find her standing there, coughing from smoke inhalation but completely unharmed. Sweeney can only shake his head when he remembers that night, lifetimes ago. It had been a surprise to wake up on the bakehouse floor, on his knees, cradling his dead wife's body, his blood drying on her face. The bigger surprise had come when he'd heard the pounding on the oven door and an irritated voice call out, "Let me the 'ell out of 'ere, damn it! It's bloody hot!"

Openly smirking now, Sweeney pulls himself back to the present, away from the decaying bakehouse and back to the woman leaning into his side. "You can listen to _Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds _if you want," he says tentatively. "I won't take it personally."

She smiles into the fabric of his shirt. "S'alright. Not such a great song, anyway. Bloody repetitive. But it's nice to know I won't 'ave to hurry ya out of the grocery store every time they play it." He chuckles shortly, pulling her into his chest and pressing his lips against her forehead. She sighs happily, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

"What?"

"Our first fight."

"Smashing," he answers stoicly.

"We 'andled it beautifully," she says and he drops a kiss into her hair. Eleanor tries not to let her surprise show, knowing if she points out how uncharacteristically affectionate he is being, he'll distance himself immediately. She is enjoying his attention too much to ruin it with her big mouth.

"Thou and I art too wise too woo peaceably," he quotes and she laughs.

"Is that what we are? Quarrelin' lovers?" She tilts her face up to look at him, eyes shimmering with her unbridled amusement. "Are you the Benedict to my Beatrice, then?"

Sweeney nods solemnly, but the glint of humor in his eyes makes her grin up at him. "Oh yes, ours is the great love affair of two centuries."

"First it was Romeo and Juliet, then Marc Antony and Cleopatra, and now..." She trails off suggestively.

"The barber and the baker," he finishes for her, pressing his forehead to hers, lips curving up in the smallest of smiles.

She leans into his touch, all too happy to have him back. She remembers his angry words, the slam of the apartment door and how she'd thought for sure he'd be gone when she got back. "I don't much care for arguin'," she confesses. "I'm glad it's over."

He pulls away, taking her hand again. "Let's go home, pet."

As they head back to the apartment, hands clasped tightly between them, Eleanor sighs sulkily. "I'm bloody 'ungry."

"Well we'd have chicken to eat if you hadn't throw such a tantrum," he says, as though pinning the whole thing on her.

She fixes him with a withering glare. "I wouldn't 'ave been forced to throw it you weren't such a bastard. S'your fault we 'ave nothin' to eat now, so I think _you _should cook somethin' when we get back."

He makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a twenty. "Here. Find a hot dog stand."

Frowning, she takes the money, smoothing out its wrinkles with deft fingers. "Why not cook? I know you can."

His arm slides around her waist as he smoothly pulls her into his side, mouth against her ear. "Because, _Eleanor_, I have much more interesting plans for the evening that involve being decidedly away from the kitchen."

Mouth forming an 'O' in understanding, Eleanor pockets his money and glances away, a secretly pleased smile lighting her features.

_--_

The apartment is dark that night, not even a lamp left on, and the Alfredo noodles lay forgotten on the counter, sticking to the pot and rendering them inedible. The two people living there cannot find it within themselves to care.

The only sounds that can be heard emit from Eleanor Lovett's bedroom, soft moans accompanied by the rustling of clothes. While the bedroom is just as dark as the rest of the apartment, the two people inside hardly notice, too preoccupied with complicated things like buttons and zippers to pay anything else any mind.

Being in the middle of a particularly spectacular kiss and trying to be in control enough of one's faculties to unbutton a shirt is too daunting a task for Eleanor. She forgets the button for the time being and wraps her arms around her love's neck, pressing her mouth harder against his and momentarily losing herself in his kiss.

Sweeney seems to have no qualms about undressing and kissing at the same time, and tongue still thoroughly sweeping her mouth, he fumbles for the zipper on her jeans. After a moment, he groans and reluctantly pulls away, cursing.

"What?" Eleanor asks, breathless. She looks up at him in confusion, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

"Damn zipper is stuck," he mutters, sounding positively irate that something as simple as a zipper is keeping him from Eleanor's rather lacy underwear.

She laughs softly, leaning up to brush her lips against his. "Patience is a virtue, love." Eyes locked on his, she reaches down and tugs on the zipper. It unzips obediently, and she smirks at him.

"That wasn't so 'ard, was it?" She swats away his hands when he reaches for her, stepping forward to finally unbutton his shirt, eager to feel hard muscle beneath her fingers. Without his lips to distract her, Eleanor gets the shirt off without much trouble, and it joins hers on the floor.

They haven't spoken of their earlier argument since the park nearly an hour ago, but Eleanor knows he is still thinking about it, just like she is. She finds it difficult to put their harsh words behind them so easily, and she mulls them over as Sweeney's lips glide over the skin of her collarbone.

The past is like an anchor, holding us back.

The words spring unbidden to her mind, and she finds it ironic that she is thinking of Sex and the City now, with Sweeney's mouth trailing hotly down her chest. It doesn't seem to matter where she has heard them, because the words make her freeze in Sweeney's arms, and he notices her suddenly stiff posture.

"What is it?" He asks, pulling away to look at her warily.

It all makes sense to her now. The only trouble they seem to have in their relationship involves the past, who they used to be and what they had done. But does the past really even matter anymore? Why should Lucy matter to her when Sweeney is in her bed? And as much as she knows she'll never forget that night in the bakehouse, what good does it do bringing it up in front of Sweeney when she knows he feels remorse for what he'd done? The rest of the words come to Eleanor suddenly: maybe you have to let go of who you are to become who you will be.

Letting go, while easier said than done, is exactly what she plans on doing. She can't let what happened so long ago get in the way of the here and now, she refuses to let everything she has ever wanted slip right through her hands because of their strange inability to forgive and forget.

_The history of the world my pet, is learn forgiveness and try to forget_.

It is something they'll have to work on together, but Eleanor figures if they can survive war, death and the world's brief but terrifying fascination with the glam mullet, then learning to forgive should be a piece of cake.

Sweeney is staring at her strangely, hand caressing the small of her back. "Eleanor? Are you in there?"

Snapping back to attention, Eleanor turns her eyes to his and smiles brilliantly. "Sorry, love. Got lost for a tick." She slips her fingers into the belt loops in his pants, tugging him near to her again. "Are you insane, don't stop now!" He resumes his assault on her neck when she gives him another reassuring smile, and she sighs contentedly into his chest, slyly snaking her fingers closer to the button on his pants.

Once her jeans and his black slacks join the growing pile of clothing on the floor, Sweeney pushes her onto the bed, and her back hits the soft mattress as he falls on top of her gently. Time seems to stop then, just for a moment, as their eyes lock, their breathing heavy. Looking into his brown eyes, Eleanor knows he is thinking the same thing she is -_ how the hell did this happen? _But it doesn't seem to matter how, only that it did. She smiles up at him and he toys with a strand of her red hair, never once looking away. She is determined to let the past stay exactly where it belongs - in the past. Whatever is in store for the two of them, she doesn't want Fleet Street to get in the way of it.

Leaning up, Eleanor brushes her mouth against his, and she feels him smirk lightly against her lips. Their relationship isn't quite what she had expected of them, once upon a time when she'd been baking men into pies and he'd been her supplier. It's better, she thinks as Sweeney fingers the lace of her bra.

It's much better.

_--_

_Everything comes gradually and at its appointed hour..._

Urd had been convinced that her way of doing things would bring the two immortals closer, and now, as Skuld peers over her shoulder, watching the two intently, she has to admit her sister had been right. "What did I tell you?" Urd sighs dreamily. "Closer than ever."

Skuld huffs, straightening and moving away from the scene. "So you were right, big deal."

"I can't believe you doubted me," Urd continues, smiling at her sister's petulance. "I _have _been doing this for quite some time, you know."

"Yes, yes," Skuld rolls her eyes. "You're brilliant and we all must bow before you, I get it."

Urd frowns, putting aside her gloating for a moment. "What's the matter with you? They're closer, isn't that what we want?"

"Of course it is," Skuld relents wearily. "But they still didn't say it."

From behind them, Verdandi sighs morosely. "Standing there on the bridge, in the moonlight, it would have been perfectly romantic."

Thinking back on her plans for their argument, Urd has to confess that she had expected some sort of declaration of affection, something dramatic. But she thinks that what happened instead is better than those three words they have all been waiting for. The two are finally letting go of past discretions and moving on with the lives they have now, it is more than Urd could have hoped for in one argument. Yet, she too is a little disappointed.

"Don't be so pessimistic," she says, her tone lighter than her thoughts. "He said he cared for her, didn't he? That's a start, you can't expect miracles."

"But when are they going to say it?" Skuld presses, tugging on the ends of her hair in frustration. "This has been going on long enough!"

Urd places a delicate hand on her hip, brow furrowed in annoyance. "Don't rush me. You rush me, you get rotten miracles."

"I'm not trying to rush you," Skuld reasons. "I'm just saying, is all. It's been a while. How long does it take to figure out you love someone?"

"How should I know?" Urd scolds. "I'm not mortal, I've never been in love!"

Verdandi clears her throat, garnering their attention instantly. "I think we should leave them be," she suggests. "They need time to themselves, and when they're ready to say it, they will."

"Are you suggesting we leave them alone again?" Urd asks. "Because I'm quite unwilling to leave them while they're recovering from an argument. They're not stable enough to be abandoned."

Verdandi shakes her head. "No, I think you would do well to keep them on track. Just stop interfering so heavily, they need to do this on their own and in their own time."

Gazing at her sister in admiration, Urd only nods, smiling gently. "Very well. If it will please you, I shall."

Verdandi nods, but Urd hardly notices, already thinking of ways to interfere without displeasing her sensitive sister.

* * *

A/N-I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, and I can't put my finger on why. So let me know what you all think. Your reviews, as always, were amazing and I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of the encouragement! Also, there was a Sex and the City quote in there, and the quote in italics is by Ovid. Oh, and who can spot the Princess Bride quote? Well, half a quote anyway:D

MK-I'm so glad you're not disappointed, I was really pretty concerned with how well everyone would take to my version of their relationship, so it's a relief to hear you think they're still in character. I can't believe you've never been in a corn maze! You need to get a bunch of friends together and do that, but I have to admit, it's ten times more fun when you get lost.Haha And thank you, I'm feeling much better after that terrible week:D Thanks for the review!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-Omg, funniest review I got for the whole chapter.Haha I thoroughly enjoyed reading about you freaking out, you sure know how to make a gal feel special;D So glad you like my...hotter scenes.LOL I'm always nervous when I post those. And you're mention of my Sweeney being hot is the best thing ever, I love you now. Seriously, before, it was only an infatuation, but now I love you.Haha Also, OCness is officially a word. I declare it. Thanks for the review!


	16. Worth A Thousand Words

Passing Strange

First impressions are lasting. The first time you meet someone is the first time you get a feel for their character, who they are as a person and whether or not you are going to get along. Carol has always known there is something odd about Eleanor Lovett, even from the first time she had laid eyes on her.

They'd met in the hospital lounge they frequent so often nowadays. Eleanor had looked up from sipping her coffee and looked Carol straight in the eye with the sly grin that is so familiar to her now. Eleanor had held out her hand to her, and as warm and open as the woman seemed, Carol had gotten the distinct feeling that she was hiding something behind those friendly eyes. The two had quickly become close friends, but the strange feeling Carol had about Eleanor never left, always lingering in the back of her mind, troubling her like something she has forgotten to do.

It hadn't been just a feeling either, Carol decides as she scrolls through newspaper reels in the New York Public Library. The woman has a strange vocabulary, for one thing. She uses words that Carol has never heard before, like 'tick'. Who says things like, 'I'll be back in a tick'? Not anyone from the 21st century, that's for sure.

Once, when they'd gone out for a girl's night and gotten particularly drunk, Carol had commented on the pretty, Victorian-looking cocktail ring Eleanor had been sporting, and the redhead had drunkenly revealed to her that it had been a gift from her poor dear Albert. At the time, Carol had chalked it up to how much alcohol they'd had, but later, under more sober circumstances, she had asked Eleanor who Albert was and why he was a poor dear. Her friend had paled and mumbled something about having too much to drink. That had been the last time Eleanor had gotten more than tipsy in Carol's presence ever again.

And there's the time when Carol had retrieved some change from Eleanor's designer billfold, and had innocently glanced at her driver's license. She'd held it up to her friend curiously and asked why her license had a birth date but no year. Eleanor had only looked at her and said slowly, "I don't know, love. Must 'ave made a mistake down at the DMV."

Carol isn't sure what she is looking for as she scrolls past reel after reel of newspaper clippings in the library's archives. She only knows that when she finds it, she'll know. Thinking back on what had brought her to such extreme means of research, Carol can only frown in bemusement, just as she had when she'd overheard the conversation Eleanor had been having with Sweeney.

It had been a few days ago, just after she'd changed a patient's IV and come into the lounge for a coffee break. Eleanor had been in there by herself, talking on her cell phone, her back to the door. "Because I bought that table one hundred years ago, Sweeney," she'd been saying in a hushed tone. "I'll kill you if you've left a ring on it from your beer bottles! 'Ow many times 'ave I told you to use a bloody coaster?"

At first, Carol hadn't known what to think. She had simply turned and left her friend to her conversation, trying to piece together what she'd heard so that it made sense. But no matter what way she twisted it, the words 'I bought that table one hundred years ago' can only mean one thing. And she doesn't even want to start on Sweeney Todd, who, while incredibly hot in the tall, dark and handsome sort of way, is quiet and mysterious, and something about him makes Carol oddly nervous.

And so, she finds herself scanning the archives for some sort of clue, but to what, she doesn't know. She only knows that something is not right with her friend. Something very strange is going on, and Carol could never stand it when someone knew something she did not.

An hour passes, and chin in palm, eyelids drooping with exhaustion, she is about to give up her wild goose chase and go home to her fiancé when she sees it. Blue eyes widening in pure, unadulterated shock, Carol can only stare, wondering how such a thing is possible.

_--_

The bridal shop is a quaint, little-known gem that Eleanor had found several months ago, when Carol had begun looking for wedding dresses. The dresses are one of a kind, with a costly price tag to go with them, but Carol had found her perfect dress here, and browsing through the racks, Eleanor can't understand how she'd been able to narrow it down to one dress.

In the back, behind a set of lacy curtains, is the fitting area, and while Carol tries on her dress for one last fitting before the wedding, Nellie takes her time rifling through various dresses. Some of them are too frilly, with too many trappings and she wrinkles her nose in distaste at these, moving along to the next rack, trailing her fingers along the fabrics as she does so.

She finds herself drawn to the more silken ones, with a bustle in the back to trail behind the bride. Smiling as she fingers the silk beneath her hands, Eleanor thinks it must be because of how much these dresses remind her of the one she used to imagine herself wearing when she thought Sweeney would forget about his thirst for revenge and marry her. She puts a hand to her mouth to muffle her sudden fit of giggles, shaking her head as she remembers that time in her life and how delusional she had been. At the time, the only things Sweeney had cared about were vengeance and Lucy.

Meandering aimlessly towards the front of the small shop, Nellie eyes the mannequin standing at attention near the large store windows, mouth opening slightly in awe. The gown is perfect in every possible way, a strapless soft ivory with a delicate band of beading around the waist, and Eleanor notices that it ties in the back in a ribbon that falls to the bottom of the dress. The skirt is a beautiful satin material that is covered in a thin layer of tulle. Her breath catches when she sees the lovely double french bustle, sighing in adoration.

Glancing around timidly, Eleanor determines that practically every salesgirl is in the back with Carol and steps forward, hand outstretched to gently touch her fingertips to the textured fabric of the bodice reverently. It is the perfect wedding dress, and she is tempted to purchase it and put it away, just in case. Stepping slowly away from the dress when she realizes where her train of thought is heading, Eleanor clasps her hands together behind her back and mentally shakes herself. It is _much _too early to even be thinking this way, and she wants to blush at her own forwardness. Even so, she slips her cell phone from her purse and snaps a quick picture with the built-in camera and hurriedly walks away, flushing.

Having decided that she has embarrassed herself enough, Nellie slips behind the curtain to check on her friend. " 'Ow we doin', love?" She asks, glancing up from sliding her phone back into her handbag to see that Carol is out of her gown and back into blue jeans. "All finished?"

Carol nods, looking at her with that same peculiar glint in her eyes. Nellie isn't quite sure what she is hiding, but she is familiar enough with secrecy to know something is going on behind those innocent looking blue eyes. "Yeah, all done here." She smiles half-heartedly and slips past the redhead, through the curtain and to the counter to pay for her things.

Eleanor follows, a small frown gracing her features. She stands by quietly as Carol pays the salesgirl and tucks her wallet back into her purse, and then trails behind her friend as they exit the store and step out onto the sidewalk. Merging into the sea of people, Eleanor falls into step beside the blonde, trying not to let the unnerving tension between them get to her. Carol had asked her last week to go with her to her final fitting for her wedding dress, so they'd gotten off of work early together, but Carol has been so unusually quiet, so pensive and jittery around her, that Eleanor is beginning to wonder what she'd done.

As they near the small café where they usually have lunch together, Eleanor finally huffs in annoyance and grabs Carol's sleeve, stopping her in the middle of the sidewalk. She ignores disgruntled murmurs as people step around them to keep walking. "Alright, I give up. What's wrong with you?"

Using her free hand to push blonde hair behind her ears, Carol avoids her eyes nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine." Tugging herself free from Eleanor's grasp, she turns and begins walking again, stepping into the warm café and commandeering a table near a window.

Sitting down across from her, Nellie watches as Carol picks up a menu and hides her face behind it, though by this time they know the restaurant so well that they have the menu memorized. "You've been actin' bloody crazy all day, and I'm sick of tryin' to figure out what your problem is. I'd appreciate if you'd enlighten me, dear. I spend enough time tryin' to understand Sweeney's mood swings, I don't need yours too."

Blue eyes lined in black peer over the top of the menu, wide and untrusting. "I just found out something about a friend that's a little shocking. I'm just...trying to deal with it."

"Oh really?" Nellie asks skeptically. "An' what friend is this? Do I know 'em?"

Carol immediately averts her gaze elsewhere. "Why would you think that?"

Eyebrows lifted in interest, Eleanor says, "Is that a yes?" Carol is silent, but Nellie doesn't need her affirmation. "A mutual acquaintance, then...Nate?" Carol shakes her head, but considering she is still hiding behind her menu like a child, Eleanor only sees the top of her head move back and forth. "Tom? One of the interns? Dr. Garcia? George? Nancy from the billing department?" As Carol shakes her head at each one, still not speaking, Eleanor sighs. "You've never kept gossip from me before. What's so special this time?"

"It's not gossip," Carol says softly. "I haven't told anyone."

"Not even Tom?" Carol shakes her head, and Eleanor looks impressed. "Well you 'ave to tell someone, love. S'no fun keepin' a secret all to yourself."

"Well you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Carol snips, taking Nellie by surprise.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Eleanor asks suspiciously, but before Carol can answer, a waitress in a crisp white apron and black pants skips up to their table with a notepad and pencil.

"What can I get for the two of you?" She asks cheerily, no idea that she has interrupted something.

Handing her the menu that she has yet to glance at, Eleanor murmurs, "I'll 'ave a cappuccino, thanks."

The girl proceeds to take Carol's order as well, scribbling on her notepad before sticking her pencil behind her ear. She takes the menu from a reluctant Carol, leaving the nurse's face bare to the woman sitting across from her. When the waitress leaves them, Carol turns her eyes to the scrubbed table top in front of her.

"Look," she mumbles. "Just forget I said anything."

"Oh no," Eleanor hisses, leaning forward. "What the bleedin' 'ell are you talkin' about? You don't say somethin' like that an' expect me to forget about it."

"It's nothing," Carol insists, her expression saying otherwise. "I just wish you would have told me, that's all."

Narrowing her eyes, Eleanor straightens in her chair, suddenly tense. "Told you what, exactly?"

"I think you know what," Carol says, staring right back at her.

Losing her patience rapidly, Nellie says through gritted teeth, "No, I really don't, dear."

Heaving a disappointed sigh, Carol shakes her head. "I was hoping I could get you to admit it without having to show you this." Reaching for her purse, Carol begins rummaging through it, rooting around for something, and Nellie can't control her body's natural reaction to lean closer and have a better look.

Bringing out a slip of paper, Carol slaps it down in front of Eleanor, her engagement ring glistening in the sun as she returns her hand to her side of the table. Eying her friend warily, Eleanor slowly turns her distrusting gaze toward the scrap of paper. She glances up at Carol. "What's this? I don't see anythin'."

Carol clucks her tongue in disapproval. "Look closer."

Sighing as this game between them grows tiresome, Eleanor peers more closely at the paper, nearly squinting. And that's when she sees. Her mouth drops open, a strange coldness floods through her body, and she is certain her heart skips several beats as it drops to her stomach. Picking up the paper to look even closer, she can only stare in wide-eyed disbelief and breathe, "Bugger."

_--_

At the end of Sweeney Todd's first morning class, the amount of brain power in the room is at an all-time low, and this doesn't bode well for the rest of the day. The bickering is like something he would see if he had decided to teach 1st grade instead of college students. During a debate about whose views on absolutism had been correct between John Locke and Thomas Hobbes, things had turned so ugly that two young men had turned to personal insults.

One freshman had snapped in exasperation, "When you fell out of the stupid tree, you sure hit every branch on the way down!"

Kurtis Russell, ever quick witted, had replied, "Well at least mine was a small tree, not like the Sycamore you fell out of!"

"Oh burn!" Someone had called out from the back of the class, and it had taken all of Sweeney's willpower not to roll his eyes and bang his head against the chalkboard.

The rest of the day continues normally, and while Sweeney is grateful for the peace and quiet, he must admit to himself that his livelier morning class is his favorite. He never knows what topic things will turn to, or what will come out of someone's mouth next, and he likes the spontaneity. Not that he will ever admit it to anyone.

At the end of the day, he packs his briefcase, cramming it full of papers to be graded and notes to look over before heading home to make dinner for himself. Eleanor had left work early to do something or other with Carol, and he is more or less on his own for the remainder of the evening. He hates himself for how much he dreads going back to an empty apartment, knowing he is becoming too dependent on Eleanor's presence in his life.

The apartment is quiet when he walks through the door, and since Louie recognizes the sound of his footsteps, the hound doesn't even bother to get up from his perch on the sofa. Dropping his briefcase, Sweeney slips off his jacket and drapes it over the coat rack. He is just about to turn on the television to drown out the sound of silence that he can no longer stand, now that he is used to Eleanor's constant need for noise, when the woman herself comes barreling through the door.

Out of breath and chest heaving, she stops in front of him and puts her hands on her knees, drawing in desperate gulps of air. Sweeney stares at her, fearing for her sanity, and Carol comes bounding through the door as well, breathing heavily.

"What the bloody hell is - " He begins, only to be cut off when Eleanor shoves a piece of paper into his hand. He glances at her again and finally notices how pale she is for someone who has clearly run several blocks to get here. "Eleanor, what - "

"Look," she manages, straightening, still drawing in deep breaths.

Ignoring Carol entirely, as Eleanor seems to be doing, Sweeney turns his attention to the thin paper in his hand. It's a copy of some sort of newspaper article, crumpled from being shoved into someone's pocket, but still readable. He skims the article, determining that it is from the 1930's about a nightclub opening up with live entertainment. He shrugs, looking questioningly at the redhead in front of him.

"The picture," she snaps, growing impatient.

Sweeney thinks about snapping back at her, but the expression on her face says he would sorely regret it, and he grumbles to himself, looking down at the paper again. The picture is of a large crowd outside the club, probably taken without the notice of several people in the photograph. Looking closely, Sweeney studies their faces in the quiet of the apartment, only the steady breathing of Eleanor and Carol interrupting the silence. Skimming over the faces briefly, he spots a familiar visage in the crowd, and his eyes widen in alarm.

There, amongst the crowd on the sidewalk, making her way into the club, is _Eleanor Lovett_, in all of her '30's glory, completely unaware that her photograph is being taken.

"Bloody hell," he breathes, unable to form a coherent thought.

"You can say tha' again," Eleanor sighs.

"What are you doing there?" He asks, glancing from her to the blonde slumped against the apartment door behind them.

Eleanor leans closer, whispering, "It's where I was workin' then. Sang at the nightclub a few days a week. I 'ad no idea there was a bloody picture!"

"Where did you get this?" He asks as quietly as he can, but he knows Carol can hear them anyway. The apartment is too quiet to drown out even the softest of whispers.

Fixing him with a nervous look, Eleanor mutters, "Carol found it, an' was kind enough to point out my presence."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sweeney stares at the picture in stunned silence. "Damn your intrusive friends, Eleanor," he finally growls.

"What's going on?" Carol finally speaks up, having caught her breath. "Ellie, why are you in a picture that was taken seventy-eight years ago? I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you'd have to be like, over one hundred to pull that off."

Eleanor swallows, looking up at Sweeney pleadingly through large, panic-stricken brown eyes. "What do I say?" She mouths, her back to Carol.

Sweeney turns his narrowed eyes from Eleanor to Carol and back again. There is no way out of this, no way to explain the picture other than the bizarre truth. "Tell her," he says grimly.

"W-what?" Eleanor stammers, her face becoming paler than it already it, which he considers to be quite a feat.

He nods, no longer looking at her, but glaring at Carol. "You'll have to tell her. And make her keep quiet."

Carol grabs for the door handle at his menacing speech, ready to bolt if necessary. "Look, if this is some sort of elaborate photoshop thing, I totally understand. Except, y'know, how you got it into the library's database and how you made it look so ancient."

"Hey," Eleanor looks miffed. "It wasn't _that _long ago."

"Eleanor," Sweeney says between gritted teeth. "Now is not the time to be vain."

She pouts at him briefly before turning to look at Carol, trepidation dripping from her every move. " 'Ave a seat, love," she says timidly, gesturing to the sofa. Carol warily takes a seat next to Louie, preoccupying herself with scratching the dog behind the ears as she looks up at Eleanor expectantly.

Pacing the length of the living room like a caged animal, Eleanor bites down on her bottom lip, drawing strength from the pain it brings. She can't believe that it has come to this, confessing everything to Carol, who can't keep a secret to save her life. In all the years she has lived, no one has ever exposed their secret, they have never been found out until now. And all because of a bloody picture. Eleanor is now more certain than ever that technology will be their downfall.

Sweeney stands statuesque in the corner of the room, face blank, mouth set in a grim line. He looks very menacing, and Nellie understands Carol's need to shrink back into the sofa cushions. Taking a deep breath, Eleanor begins to relate their story, not sparing one detail. "Well I s'ppose it all started nearly two hundred years ago..."

She begins with the story of Benjamin Barker, and his return as Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. It takes some convincing to get Carol to accept that the bloody musical she'd recently watched is actually about her best friend and her roommate but once she understands she is alone in an apartment with murderers, she is suddenly quite complacent and willing to listen without interrupting. She is tense and skittish, like a gazelle ready to run from the big bad lion.

It feels somewhat freeing to tell someone what had happened, almost like therapy for Eleanor, being able to say to someone else besides Sweeney Todd that she is almost two hundred years old and shows no signs of aging. It makes the whole ordeal seem more real to see the bewildered expression Carol wears throughout the story, and it makes Eleanor feel less like a closet lunatic to get it off of her chest.

Sweeney Todd remains entirely silent during the retelling of their history, although there are points where he wants to interrupt or correct Eleanor on a certain detail, but he decides that keeping quiet is an interesting way to understand Eleanor's point of view during everything they'd been through.

Upon the conclusion of Eleanor's long and complicated tale, she sighs dramatically and stops pacing to look at Carol. "And that leaves us 'ere. You findin' out." She chews thoughtfully on a fingernail, one arm wrapped around herself in a protective manner. "Any questions?"

"So..." Carol trails off, brow furrowed in thought. She looks at Sweeney. "You killed people."

He tilts his head to the side in silent acceptance.

"And you baked them into pies." Carol looks at Eleanor calmly, watching her friend nod. "And you're both immortal."

Together, the former partners-in-crime nod, glancing apprehensively at each other.

"Well," Carol takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she glances at Sweeney. "I guess that explains why you're so delectable. They just don't make 'em like you anymore, do they?"

Eleanor snorts lightly, her shoulders sagging in relief at Carol's acceptance. Crossing the room, she perches on the coffee table in front of Carol. "Promise me you won't say a word. To anyone." She rubs the back of her neck anxiously. "This is serious, love. Anyone finds out, it's off to the looney bin for the both of us."

Looking her straight in the eye, Carol puts her tanned hands over Eleanor's much paler ones. "I promise. Your secret is safe with me."

"It had better be," Sweeney snaps, finally breaking his long silence.

Eleanor turns to reward him with a glare before facing Carol again. "Well it'll be nice to 'ave someone besides that charmin' gentleman standin' over there to talk to about this."

Carol shakes her head, her mind still clouded with the remnants of incredulousness. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Eleanor regards her skeptically. "Would you 'ave believed me?"

"I don't know!" Carol fairly explodes. "I'm not going to pretend this isn't freaking insane, but I'm your friend. I like to think I would have believed you without any proof."

"Speakin' of proof," Eleanor stands up to wander into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. "Where did you get that picture, anyway?"

"Library," Carol says guiltily. "I went through their archives and stumbled onto that one."

"Aren't you just a regular lil' sneak?" Eleanor scolds, and from the living room, the sound of glasses clinking together can be heard.

"Yes," Sweeney sneers. "Nice detective work, Nancy Drew. Going to meet up with the Hardy Boys for a drink after this?"

"Oh quit your heathering, Heather." Eleanor walks back into the room carrying three glasses of wine. "And you know your literature way too bloody well, darlin'. S'not natural." She hands him his glass, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips before slipping away to sit beside Carol.

"Oh!" Carol suddenly gasps, smacking Eleanor on the arm. "This totally explains your fabulous dress on Halloween! That was the real deal!"

Eleanor watches Sweeney gulp down his glass of wine in seconds and smirks. "Yes, dear. That was authentic."

Carol opens her mouth to continue her assault of questions, but her cell phone chirps noisily from inside her purse. She groans, beginning to search the inside of the bag for her phone. Checking the caller id, she sighs. "It's Tom. I have to go." She stands up, hugging Eleanor tightly. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret. I'm definitely going to need some time to process this, and you're occasionally going to have to keep me from freaking out, but it's a relief to finally know why you're so weird." She laughs, pulling away and flipping open her phone. "Tom, would you chill out? I'm coming, already!"

As the apartment door shuts behind her, Eleanor turns to look at Sweeney. "We're not weird, right?"

Pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against, Sweeney walks past her, heading for the kitchen. "She was talking about you. Apparently, I'm _delectable_."

"No, you're bloody impossible," Eleanor calls after him, chucking a pillow at his back.

He returns to the living room with the entire bottle of wine and sinks down onto the sofa next to her. Taking her empty glass and putting it on the coffee table, he hands her the bottle instead, and they take turns sipping from it.

"So now someone knows," Eleanor muses, passing the bottle to Sweeney after a long swig.

"No getting rid of her now," Sweeney grumbles, and Eleanor detects the faintest note of disappointment.

She giggles softly, resting her head lazily on his shoulder. "It's kind of nice to 'ave it out like that. Sort of liberatin'."

"But can she be trusted?" He asks quietly, turning his thoughtful gaze from the floor to her.

Eleanor meets his eyes with a small shrug. "I dunno, love. I guess we'll 'ave to wait an' see." Reaching up, she scratches affectionately at his jaw line. "And if she spills 'er guts, well, those psychiatric 'ospitals are much cleaner than they used to be."

"Thank you, Eleanor," he growls lowly, his arm slipping around her waist. "That's awfully comforting."

Laughing, she takes the bottle of wine from his loose grip, taking a long drink. "I try my best, Professor." She sighs. "In all seriousness, if she can't keep quiet, we'll 'ave to leave the country and lay low for a few years. An' we'll 'ave to go our separate ways for a while."

He looks surprised at this, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at her. "You've thought this through, haven't you?"

She nods. " 'Ave to be prepared for the worst. I 'ave a place in Tahiti, registered under another name. If worse comes to worst, I've got a few places like that to retreat to for several decades."

Sweeney frowns, finding it unsettling that she has houses in other countries that he knows nothing about. Deciding to put this troubling piece of information away to contemplate later, he says, "You would be willing to go years without contacting me?"

Eleanor tilts her face up to his, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she wants to smile. "If I 'ad to."

He tuts at her disapprovingly. "I don't think you're telling the truth, my dear. I believe you'd miss me terribly."

His haughty expression makes Eleanor cackle to herself in amusement, settling further into the crook of his arm. "You mean your tendency to pout when you don't get your way, or the way you make me sit through Clint Eastwood movies? Oh yes, love. I'd miss that somethin' _awful_."

She shrieks with laughter when the hand gripping her waist suddenly becomes less of a comfort and more of a weapon as he begins tickling her side mercilessly. She squirms amidst her uncontrollable giggles, desperate to get away from him, but he grips her tightly. She falls away from him, reclining on the sofa as he continues his assault, hovering over her.

As tears of laughter spring to her eyes and she pleads for mercy, his hands turn from relentless tickling to gentle caresses along her curves. She looks up in surprise, watching his face soften considerably as he stares down at her. She reaches up to wipe tears from her eyes as Sweeney's hand dips beneath her shirt. She shivers when she feels his fingers glide gently across her stomach. His touch is doing nothing to calm her already erratic breathing. Locking her gaze with his, Eleanor merely watches as he slowly bends down to capture her lips in a deep kiss.

She sighs contentedly into his mouth, bringing her hands up to bury themselves in his thick hair as she leans into his kiss. His lips are soft against hers and she thinks that she will never tire of kissing them, no matter how long she may live. When they eventually pull away to regard each other, sprawled across the sofa with arms and legs tangled together, Eleanor smiles up at him dreamily. "Now _that _I would miss."

_--_

_You can't leave it all up to fate, she's got a lot to do. Sometimes you must give her a hand..._

There are times in life when things happen that were not meant to be, when our plans do not go according to the plan. But sometimes, these incidents work out for the good, and make things better than we ever thought they could be.

While the Wyrd sisters had not meant for Carol to find out Todd and Lovett's dirty little secret, they cannot deny that it will add a certain _je ne sai qua _to the grand scheme of things. They hadn't planned on anyone ever finding out about the immortals, but now that it has happened, the sisters spend some time deciding the best way to remedy the situation.

"No one was suppose to find out," Verdandi whines, slumped in a rather unladylike way, her robes disheveled. "They were suppose to carry the secret together and become closer because of it!"

Skuld sighs, resting her chin upon her fist. "Well, that's no longer an option. Unless of course, we reverse time once again. Take things back to before the girl found the picture, and stop her somehow." She looks to her eldest sister for council.

Urd, who has been strangely quiet since Carol found the newspaper clipping in the library's archives, voices her opinion very softly as she watches Carol walk home to her fiancé. "I think we should leave everything exactly the way it is, and use the girl's discovery to our advantage."

Skuld and Verdandi gape at their sister for several long moments before Verdandi straightens in her seat, leveling Urd with an accusatory stare. "Urd, dear sister, I would hate to think you had anything to do with this." The tone of her voice says she already knows that this had been Urd's doing.

Urd merely lifts one shoulder in a delicate shrug, sniffing.

"You promised me!" Verdandi looks incensed. "You said you wouldn't interfere anymore!"

"I promised you no such thing," Urd glibly responds. "And even if I had promised you, _this _is not directly interfering in their relationship. I'm working through outside forces."

Skuld ignores the fuming Verdandi, brow furrowed in thought. "Why would you want that gossipmonger of a mortal to find out? How do you know she is going to keep quiet?"

Urd smiles secretively. "I have plans for that little blonde. And she won't utter a single word about it to anyone, I trust her."

"Why?"

"Well for one thing, no one would believe her," Urd laughs.

Verdandi continues to glare at her, and Urd winks at her good naturedly. "Don't fret, sister. It'll all work out for the best. You just have to trust me - I know what I'm doing."

As Skuld and Verdandi listen to their sister newest scheme, they can only hope that she is right.

* * *

A/N-First of all, I'm sorry for the wait but I haven't been feeling well yet again. I'm still not quite sure what's going on, but I'm scheduled to have some tests done at the hospital sometime this week and I guess we'll go from there. I haven't felt well enough to write, but I managed to find a day where I was lucid enough to get out a chapter for you all. Thank you all for being so patient! Also, I want to thank Marzi for the idea of Carol getting suspicious. I thought about it while lying on the couch, trying not to throw up and I decided it was a good idea.LOL So thank you dear, and by the way, I'm totally working on your review for Nightmare On Fleet Street. The quote in this chapter is from Ever After. Such a good movie. Thanks so much for your reviews, your comments are to me what Paris is to Nichole, what Oprah is to Obama. In other words, I would be lost without them:D

MK-Haha, Sweeney was very close to dropping the L-bomb. But I don't think he's quite ready to admit it yet. And yes, they acted like adults for once. Aren't you so proud?LOL Thanks for the review!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-Being someone who is completely in love with Ben and Jerry's cookie dough ice cream, you have no idea how much that means to me.LOL Of course things were thrown! It wouldn't be a true Todd/Lovett fight without kitchen appliances being tossed around! And I'm glad to hear that Sweeney was hot again, I would hate for him to lose his yumminess. Also, you comparing Sweeney to a murderous Easter bunny made me picture a glaring Sweeney in a bunny suit. I think I'm scarred for life.Haha Thanks for reviewing!

mrs.snivellus-Haha, Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying the story:D


	17. L Is For The Way You Look At Me

Passing Strange

Carol sits in front of the mirror, dabbing at her eyes as Eleanor pins blonde hair in fat curlers, and the Polish proverb '_the woman cries before the marriage, and the man after_' comes to mind. In a small room dedicated to housing the bridal party as they prepare for the ceremony, Eleanor and Carol sit alone as the redhead tries to talk her friend off her ledge. The mother of the bride and the bridesmaids have all vacated the room to give them some privacy, and Nellie is grateful for the breathing room and the ability to speak freely with her friend.

"Darling, why are you so upset all of a sudden?" Eleanor asks, trying to reason with her as she wraps the last tendrils of yellow hair around a curler and pins it to Carol's head. "You were fine last night!"

"Well last night I was taking body shots and shoving twenties down an exotic dancer's g-string!" Carol sniffs indignantly. "But I'm out of twenties and the tequila has worn off. Talk me down, damn it!"

Stifling the urge to laugh at Carol's dramatics, Eleanor purses her lips and glances around the otherwise empty room. When Carol had asked her to be the maid of honor, she'd almost declined, thinking herself too old, but at the time, Carol hadn't known their little secret and backing out would have looked too odd for the bride's best friend. But now she's glad she had accepted - who else can talk some sense into Carol?

She grabs a makeup bag and another small, velvet satchel from a small table in the middle of the room, a weathered looking thing that Eleanor suspects had been made around the same time as the ancient cathedral. She wonders what it means for her that as old as the church is, she is even older. The thought depresses her, and she turns her attention to the makeup bag, unzipping it and rifling through it for the appropriate products.

"This is ridiculous," she grouses. "You love Tom and Tom loves you. I know it, and you know it. You're makin' things more difficult than they 'ave to be. Just ignore your cold feet and it'll be over before you know it." Not her best pep talk, but the bride seems to take comfort in it all the same.

Carol bites her lip anxiously, looking hopeful. "You think so?"

"Of course," Eleanor says breezily. "In the next hour, you'll be tied together forever in the bonds of love an' joint checkin'."

Seeming to relax at her friend's tongue-in-cheek attempts to calm her, Carol breathes deeply and squares her shoulders. "You're right. Okay, just help me keep my mind off of my impending nuptials until the music starts and it's too late."

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor puts down the makeup bag and instead reaches out for the red velvet package sitting next to her. Running her fingers over it gently, she turns her gaze to Carol. "Brought you somethin'."

Carol brightens at the prospect of a present and she sits up a little straighter, grinning. "Really? What is it?"

Undoing the knot tying the tiny pouch together, Eleanor reaches slim fingers inside and pulls out a delicate silver bracelet, intricately laced with glimmering diamonds, glistening even in the dull light of the small room. "It's your somethin' old and borrowed."

Eyes wide, Carol reaches out tentatively, reverently taking the bracelet from Eleanor's outstretched hand. "It's gorgeous," she breathes, awed. "Wait, something old? How long have you had this?"

Eleanor smiles. "Picked it up on a trip to Paris almost ninety years ago. About eighty-five actually."

"Whoa," Carol shakes her head, blinking. "That's still going to take some getting used to."

Smile widening, Eleanor clasps the bracelet around Carol's wrist, then leans back to admire the way the jewelry drapes daintily. "Almost lost it once. Dropped it in the water in Central Park but I got it back."

Tears spring to Carol's eyes as she watches the reminiscent look soften Eleanor's features. "Ellie, this is too much. What if I lose it or scratch a diamond or - "

Nellie places a soft hand to Carol's cheek. "Don't worry, love. It'll be fine, I want you to wear it."

Carol takes a deep breath. "Quick, do something funny. I'm going to cry and ruin my makeup."

Shaking her head, Eleanor brings out a compact and pulls up a chair to sit across from Carol, ready to apply the finishing touches to the bride's makeup. "An' what do you suggest? Want me to tap dance for ya?"

Huffing, Carol turns her head to the side, making it easier for Nellie to brush on the blush, most of which she had rubbed off in her nervousness. "I don't know. Tell me a story."

Eleanor frowns. "Like what?"

Carol shrugs. "Well, maybe about...y'know, when you were younger. Tell me a story about before I was born!" Chuckling quietly to herself, Eleanor ignores the request in favor of blending makeup lines. Carol won't let her off the hook so easily and she squirms against the feeling of Eleanor's fingers on her cheek. "Come on, please! I'm starting to freak out again!"

"Don't," Eleanor laughs. "There's nothin' to worry about, love. You've found that one person to annoy for the rest of your bloody life. That's a good thing, don't ruin it."

Carol giggles softly, but when she speaks, her voice is the most solemn Eleanor has ever heard it. "It's nice, isn't it? Finding that one person who loves you no matter how much you get on their nerves?" Eleanor freezes in the middle of unscrewing the tube of mascara before making a faint, noncommital noise in the back of her throat and continuing. Carol's eyebrows shoot up at her suspicious behavior. "What?" She asks warily. "Haven't you...?"

Eleanor is forced to look into Carol's eyes as she coats the other woman's lashes with mascara. " 'Aven't I what?"

"You know," Carol presses. "_Told _him."

"Told him what?" Nellie asks, looking exasperated with her friend.

"That you love him," Carol finishes with a disgruntled sigh, as though Eleanor should have known what she was referring to.

Nellie looks stunned, pulling back to stare at Carol. "What? Of course not!" She turns away, busying herself with rearranging things in her makeup bag, blushing furiously. "Don't be ridiculous."

Carol watches Eleanor's flustered movements in disbelief. "How is that ridiculous? You do!"

"And 'ow would you know?" Eleanor asks, putting a hand on her hip, but Carol hears the subtle tremor in her voice.

"Because I have eyes," Carol laughs at her. "I can see it every time you're around him. Ray Charles would have been able to see it! It's in the way you look at him."

Eleanor looks skeptical beyond belief. "Oh really? 'Ow do I look at 'im?"

Carol smirks. "Like you're a Rottweiler and he's a nice juicy steak." She ducks when Eleanor tosses a tube of lipstick at her. "Hey, watch it. I'm still the bride, show some respect for the veil." Eleanor's only response is to stick out her tongue. Turning serious suddenly, Carol cocks her head to one side, brow furrowed. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"No," Eleanor says immediately, finishing with the mascara. She shoves the bright pink tube back into the bag. "Any more questions?"

Carol ignores her response as she inspects her reflection in the mirror. Watching Eleanor pull out an eyeliner pencil to use next, she asks, "How can you do it?"

Eleanor's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Do what?"

Carol swallows. "How can you share an apartment, a bed, a _life _with the man who tried to kill you? Who technically _did _kill you? How can you trust him?" It isn't a malicious question, just innocent curiosity.

Eleanor couldn't have been more surprised if Carol had slapped her. For a moment, all she can do is stare mutely at the blonde, her thoughts blank. "I-I don't know," she finally musters. "I s'ppose it was just a long time ago, love. I 'ated 'im for a while but..." She shrugs delicately. "It drains you, bein' angry all the time. Besides, we were different people then. Times 'ave changed."

"I think your feelings for him changed," Carol hints.

"Well of course they did," Eleanor snaps defensively. " 'E's in my bed, ain't 'e?"

"How crude Ellie," Carol tuts in mock disapproval.

Eleanor frowns at her, running pale fingers through vibrant red curls. "My point is that yes, I trust 'im. I always 'ave, and more often than not, it gets me into trouble, but I've decided to just leave the past where it is. I like 'ow things are now an' I don't want who we used to be messin' it up."

Carol smiles at her, satisfied with the answer she has received. "See?" She says, still beaming. "You love him."

"You're bloody mad," Eleanor says, her voice unnaturally high. "It's 'asn't even been three months yet."

"Yeah, but you've known each other for two hundred years. I think you've waited long enough." Carol rolls her eyes, yanking the eyeliner from Eleanor's hand and turning to the mirror to finish the job herself. Eleanor lets her, a troubled look crossing her features as she sits by, watching Carol apply the rest of her makeup.

Sensing her friend's emotional turmoil and feeling guilty for being the cause of it, Carol scrambles for another question to ask, eyeing her friend through the mirror. "So...what were the thirties like? Were you involved with the mob? That was a pretty big thing then, right?"

Tearing her eyes from her lap, Nellie gives her a look and takes the eyeliner back from her, beginning to carefully line the blonde's lower lashes. "No, I wasn't involved with the mob," she scolds lightly, then a genuine smile graces her lips. "But Sweeney was."

Carol gasps, jerking back so quickly that Eleanor nearly jabs her in the eye with the eye pencil. "No way!" She says, not seeming to notice her close encounter with the pointy stick. "Seriously?"

Eleanor nods. "Keep still, dearie and I'll tell you the 'ole story."

_--_

When Eleanor had suggested going to Tom's bachelor party the night before, he'd been reluctant, telling her that going to the wedding was punishment enough. After an argument that he'd ended up losing, Sweeney had gone to the party and now Tom is glued to his side like they've been best friends their whole lives. Sweeney Todd is not one to make new friends and Eleanor is going to pay.

Waiting in another part of the massive church, away from any chance they may have to run into the bride before the wedding, Sweeney sits with Tom and his groomsmen. They each sit in a cloud of cigar smoke, holding a hand of cards with their ties loosened, their shirt sleeves rolled up, around a table meant for holding the communion plates. Waiting for the right moment to reveal his straight flush, Sweeney takes a puff from his cigar and enjoys this rare opportunity to relax.

In front of him lies a pile of chips, the proof of his winnings stacked precariously, ready to topple with the slightest movement of the table. Tom, in his pre-wedding jitters, had proposed a game of poker to get his mind off of his sweating palms, and considering that Sweeney has taken most of the poor boy's money, he thinks the groom might be starting to regret the suggestion.

Across the table, Tom eyes him vigilantly, watching for any sort of tell the professor might have. Squinting at him, the groom scrutinizes his every facial expression, watches every movement, studies his hands to see if they're shaking. Finding nothing to give away the former barber's hand, Tom lets out a frustrated sigh and drops his cards on the table. "I fold."

Eddie, the best man and Tom's best friend since high school, joins him in his defeat. "Me too. The wife will kill me if I lose any more money."

Sweeney suppresses a smirk, eyeing the other two men sitting at the table as they wrestle with whether or not they're willing to lose. When they've laid down their cards, the two men collectively groan, and Sweeney barely hides his pleased, feral grin as he rakes in their chips. Tom and his best man begin to collect the cards and chips to be put away before the priest finds them betting in the church, everyone hands Sweeney what they owe him and he pockets the money without remorse.

Checking his watch, Tom says anxiously, "We probably need to get out there." As his friends begin putting out their cigars, rolling down their shirt sleeves and shrugging into their jackets, Tom turns to his best man. "Dude, you got the rings?"

Eddie pats down his pockets, feeling nothing. "Oh, I gave them to Charley."

Charley, one of the groomsmen, glances up from sucking down the rest of his whiskey. "Huh? Oh, I don't have 'em. I gave them to Bill."

The other groomsmen reaches into his tuxedo jacket pocket, pulling out a Cracker Jack box. Opening it, he tosses a few kernels into his mouth and then pulls out two rings. "Here they are."

Tom smacks Bill lightly across the back of the head. "Very funny."

"Hey," Bill says around a mouthful of caramel coated popcorn. "I wasn't _trying _to be funny. I put it there for safe keeping. No one's going to throw away a Cracker Jack box without checking for the prize!"

Tom snatches the rings from him and hands them to Sweeney. "Could you hold on to these, please? These clowns can't seem to keep track of them, Carol'll castrate me if I lose these." Staring at the wedding bands now lying in his open palm, Sweeney nods mutely and Tom slaps him on the back. "Thanks, man." Glancing around at the others, Tom says, "Guys, why don't you go check on things? Make sure the priest isn't late and make sure Carol doesn't have on her running shoes."

The three men exit the room talking loudly amongst themselves, Eddie counting the money he has lost, Charley cradling his nearly empty glass of whiskey, and Bill bringing up the rear, still munching from his Cracker Jack box. Tom watches them go with a shake of his head, and soon, the two are left alone in the now quiet room.

"Look," Tom begins uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "I know we met too late for you to be a part of the wedding party, but I know you would have been otherwise, so I want you to have a groomsmen gift anyway." While Tom turns, rooting around for something in a bag on the table, Sweeney is too busy thanking God that he had met Tom too late to be a part of the wedding, and he doesn't notice the package Tom takes out of the bag. He holds it out, presenting the gift to Sweeney nervously.

Sweeney watches the man carefully before slowly unwrapping the blue tissue paper to reveal a shiny silver flask, and engraved in swirling script across the front is '_Sweeney Todd_'. Glancing up from the gift in his hands to regard Tom, Sweeney is speechless. He has only met this man a handful of times, and each time, he never thought he'd made such an impression on the boy that he would feel required to give him a gift. "You didn't have to - " He begins, tugging at his tie awkwardly. These sorts of conversations make him uncomfortable, and he is grateful when Tom interrupts before he can get any further.

"I know, man," Tom smiles boyishly at him. "But you're going to need it. Carol's parents wanted a dry wedding reception, so there's no bar, only the champagne we toast with. It was their only condition."

Sweeney stares. "No alcohol?" How is he suppose to get through that nightmare of a reception without the help of strong alcohol?

Tom shakes his head, still grinning. "Nope. But if you still think it's unnecessary, I can take it back."

It takes every ounce of Sweeney's willpower not to clutch the flask to his chest protectively. Instead, his fingers tighten around it and he says calmly, "I don't see the harm in me keeping it..."

Tom slaps him on the back again, and while he'd hated it the first couple of times, Sweeney is growing used to the gesture of camaraderie. "You're welcome."

Ten minutes later, with his flask tucked away safely in his jacket pocket, Sweeney sits in a pew crowded with the bride and groom's family and friends as the wedding march begins to play. Everyone turns to look at the bride as she makes her journey down the aisle but Sweeney doesn't bother, continuing to stare straight ahead to where Eleanor stands at her appointed spot with the bridal party. In a wine colored taffeta gown and curls swept up in an elegant chignon, she stares right back at him, smirking lightly as she holds her bouquet of tulips close to her.

Eyes raking over the floor length gown, Sweeney raises an eyebrow at her and Eleanor only has time to wink at him subtly before Carol and her father reach the altar, ending the couple's silent exchange. For the remainder of the ceremony, Sweeney barely hears the vows between the bride and groom, tuning out most of the dronings of the priest as well, entertaining himself with staring at Eleanor, watching her blush under his gaze in front of a church full of people.

It usually doesn't take much to turn her cheeks that lovely shade of pink and he delights in doing so at every opportunity. He knows just what to say, what to do and how to look to make the apples of her cheeks flush charmingly, he always has. Benjamin had even liked to do so, liked to see his landlady blush because of something he'd done or said. But things had been different then, and his relationship with Eleanor had been far more innocent. She'd been his landlady, his friend, and he'd known of her enamor with him, somewhere in the deep recesses of his love-clouded brain, but he'd been too wrapped up in yellow hair to pay her feelings any mind.

Taking his eyes briefly from the redhead standing next to the bride, Sweeney hides a smile, glancing down at the program he'd been handed on his way to his seat. He definitely sees her now, and none of Benjamin Barker's former infatuations will change that. Lifting his eyes back to Eleanor, Sweeney waits for her to acknowledge his gaze, but she pointedly ignores him, keeping her attention focused on the exchanging of vows.

They've been getting along quite well since that rather spectacular disagreement a couple of weeks ago, save a few small arguments that he thinks she enjoys just as much as he does. He knows it's probably sick, but he _likes _arguing with Eleanor, he likes to make her mad. He loves the fire in her eyes when they're sparring back and forth. He has to disguise a laugh with a small cough when he thinks that their making up compensates for any unsavory argument. Looking at Eleanor again, Sweeney sees her eyeing him warily, probably wondering what he is thinking that could bring that almost pleasant look to his face. He simply stares back, one corner of his mouth lifted in a small grin.

They finally meet up again at the reception hall, and she sneaks away from the other bridesmaids to join him at his table with Bill, the groomsman who is regaling him with tales of his deer hunting exploits. She marches determinedly toward him, holding a small plate of chocolate covered strawberries. The look of relief on his face when he sees her is enough to make her break into a huge grin, and being careful of her voluminous skirt, she takes a seat next to him, her warm hand finding his arm. "Bill, dear," she says, her eyes trained on Sweeney. "You don't mind givin' me a minute with Sweeney, do ya?"

"Oh sure," he says, picking up his cup of punch to climb to his feet. "No problem."

"Thanks," Eleanor tears her gaze away from Sweeney to grace the retreating figure of Bill with a smile. When he's gone, flirting with one of the bridesmaids, she turns to her plate of strawberries. "You owe me," she says, sliding a piece of the red fruit into her mouth, completely oblivious to Sweeney's hungry stare as he watches her every move. "Not havin' fun with Bill?"

"Not having fun at all," he mutters darkly, eyeing the way she licks the chocolate from her fingers. He swallows, reaching into the pocket of his suit. He pulls out the silver flask Tom had given to him, and Eleanor gasps.

"Where'd you get that?" She asks suspiciously. "Not s'pposed to be any alcohol 'sides the champagne."

Discreetly taking a swig from the flask and grimacing as the whiskey burns his throat, Sweeney quickly stashes the silver lifesaver in his lap, where it will not be in danger of being discovered. "And whose to say it isn't champagne, Eleanor?"

She arches an eyebrow skeptically. "Then why are you hidin' it? And since when do you wince at the burn of _champagne_?"

He frowns, hating himself for not thinking this through. Grudgingly, he hands her the flask, and she takes it, looking very satisfied with herself as she takes a small nip. "Where'd you get a flask?" She asks again.

Watching the people out on the dance floor, hopping around to some Alice Cooper song, Sweeney feels her slide the flask back into his hand. "Tom," he says idly. "He warned me this damned party would be without real alcohol, and was kind enough to supply me with some."

Eleanor leans into him, toying with his silk tie absently. "Is that...fondness I 'ear in your voice, Mr. Todd?"

He frowns at her. "No."

She grins. "You like 'im."

"I do not," he says instantly, bristling. "I like the flask, not him."

Sighing, Eleanor rests her head on his shoulder, suppressing a yawn. "Whatever you say, love." Reaching out with one hand to take the last strawberry on the plate, she lifts it to his mouth, tilting her face up to watch as he unwillingly bites into the succulent fruit, humoring her. Popping the other half of the strawberry into her own mouth, Eleanor moves to reach for Sweeney's untouched flute of champagne to wash down the chocolate taste when she feels his soft lips cover hers and she freezes in surprise. His hand slides over her knee, and even through the fabric of her dress, the warmth of his fingers makes her shiver.

Slowly opening her mouth against his, she forgets the champagne for the time being, arching into him. The bitter taste of whiskey lingers on her tongue after he pulls away, regarding her flushed cheeks with amusement. She gives him a questioning look at his sudden affection, but he only licks his lips says, "You had chocolate right here," and brings his finger up to lightly caress the spot on her lip he is talking about.

She grabs his hand, holding it in hers and they sit together in companionable silence, watching couples on the dance floor swaying to and fro elegantly. Eleanor gazes out at them with interest, eyes flitting briefly over the various couples before finally settling on Carol and Tom, in the middle of the floor, in each others arms, talking quietly. Nellie loves to dance, always has and she longs to be out on the floor with the rest of the happy couples. She knows she could go find someone to dance with, someone she wouldn't have to drag out onto the floor while they grumbled about it the whole way, but she doesn't want anyone else. She wants the man sitting next to her, the man she hasn't danced with in nearly two hundred years. Not since Fleet Street, not since that fateful waltz to her demise.

Swallowing as she tries to push away painful memories, Eleanor squeezes Sweeney's hand, looking up at him hopefully. "Dance with me?" She asks quietly.

He looks down at her, and she can see in his eyes that he is attempting to get rid of his own ghosts of the past. "Why?" He asks, looking guarded.

Giving him a faint smile, she says, "I like this song." It's partly true. She _does _like this song, Mazzy Star had been a great band, and _Fade Into You _is Eleanor's favorite song of theirs, but the song playing doesn't matter much to her. Right now, all she really wants is to be wrapped in his arms, it's all she has wanted since feeling his eyes burning into her during the ceremony, though she doesn't dare say such a thing to him. He would probably laugh at her, or worse, give her that horribly smug grin of his that she loathes.

Instead, she gazes up at him in earnest, waiting for a reply. He surprises her when instead of trying to bargain his way out of it, he pulls his hand out from under hers and stands up. Extending his hand to her with the disgruntled look of someone who would rather sit and drink from his flask of whiskey, Sweeney pulls her to her feet. Eleanor beams at him, taking the lead and pulling him out onto the floor.

His hands are around her waist before she has time to react, their bodies pressing together as her hand finds his shoulder. "You don't 'ave to do this, you know," she says after a moment of silence. "I could find someone else to dance with."

"Yes," he says with a sigh of exasperation. "I could stand by and watch one of Tom's drunken groomsmen try to feel you up during the chicken dance."

Laughing, Eleanor leans up and presses her lips into his neck. His grip instantly tightens around her waist, and she relaxes, resting her head against his broad chest and closing her eyes. The scent of his cologne lulls her into letting her guard down, and the conversation she had had with Carol in the bridal room comes back to haunt her in her time of weakness.

Carol's earlier disbelief at her and Sweeney's lack of exchanged words of love have given Nellie a lot to think about this evening. Leaning into her dance partner, she thinks over her conversation with Carol, eyes studying the material of Sweeney's suit beneath her fingertips. She hasn't really given those three little words much thought since the beginning of her relationship with Sweeney in September. It's only November now, and she thinks it is a bit too early to make any sort of declaration. Even so, she contemplates this new development, turning the words over in her mind.

Love. What does it mean to truly love someone? To like spending time with them, to like sleeping with them? She supposes that's part of it, but not all. She'd read once, that love is the difficult realization that something than oneself is real. She finds this too poetic for her taste however, and safely enveloped in Sweeney's strong arms, Nellie thinks that love is much simpler and yet more complex than pretty words read in a book. Smiling as she briefly opens her eyes again and sees the flower girl dance with her little brother, both of them bouncing around clumsily to a beat entirely outside the slow one playing over the speakers, Eleanor begins to compile a list in her head, of what love must truly be if Carol is right, and she does love Sweeney Todd, without even realizing it.

It would have to mean that love is liking the way his arm is always wrapped around her waist when she wakes up, almost protectively. It would have to mean that love is thinking of him when she is at work, and looking forward to seeing him at the end of the day. It would have to mean that love is the way her mind goes completely blank when he kisses her, like nothing else matters. It must mean putting up with the way she always finds finger tracks in the peanut butter, or tolerating his stubbornness and his tendency to brood when left alone too long. It must mean loving to argue with him just as much as she likes to feel his bare skin against hers or curl up with him on the sofa to watch some mediocre movie.

If, Nellie thinks, love means all of that, then it must be true. Tightening her grip on Sweeney's shoulder noticeably, Eleanor's eyes snap open at this unexpected realization. Her eyes find Carol's across the crowded reception hall, and the blonde smiles at her over Tom's shoulder. Eyes slowly drifting closed again at the butterfly light touch of Sweeney's lips brushing over the top of her head, Eleanor feels her heart slow to a crawl inside her chest.

It's crazy, she knows the chances of him ever returning the sentiment are slim to none, but she is helpless to stop it. She has always been helpless when it comes to him. She'd been helpless to fall for Benjamin, helpless to try and resist the demon barber, and now it is fruitless to deny her changing feelings for the professor holding her close. Her feelings have always been stronger than his, but she knows it isn't something he can help. It's in his nature to hold back, and displaying any more emotion than necessary is considered madness to this man. Sweeney would probably only grunt in response if she confided in him her newfound realization, and she thinks her heart cannot take any more of his rejection. Twice in life is quite enough for her.

She is in love with Sweeney Todd but she can never tell him. This is tolerable, she relents, feeling the tips of Sweeney's fingers dance over the bare skin of her back exposed by her dress. She has gotten quite good at keeping secrets.

_--_

_Tempted fate will leave the loftiest star..._

Carol, Urd decides with satisfaction, is serving her purpose well. Before Lovett had made friends with the blonde, Urd had always thought Carol a bit on the dense side and hadn't really noticed any potential in the girl. She liked to gossip too much, and she could be annoyingly hyper. But now, the eldest Wyrd sister is very glad she'd decided to give Carol a chance.

The idea to use Carol to help Lovett realize her love for Todd had come out of nowhere, as all of Urd's best ideas are wont to do. As Urd watches the couple waltz together on the dance floor to a new, more upbeat tune, she sees the brilliant smile brightening Lovett's face, sees the new way that the woman looks at Todd, with a sort of clandestine light dancing in her brown eyes. Urd can only smile to herself, knowing that her plan has worked. Lovett is quite aware now of her love for the demon barber.

With a sigh that radiates her rapture, Urd leans back and plucks at her skirts happily. "I've done it," she breathes, barely loud enough to be heard by her sisters.

Skuld glances up from examining her nails. "Done what?"

"She loves him," Urd says simply.

Skuld can only gape at her, but Verdandi finds it within herself to shoot straight up from her position lounging on a pile of cushions with a cluster of grapes. "What? She said it?!"

"Well," Urd flounders, looking away. "She didn't speak the words, per se. But I can _tell_. She's in love."

Verdandi's excited face falls at this, and she lets out a frustrated noise, collapsing back onto the cushions. "It isn't nice to get people excited for no reason," she says sourly.

Urd ignores her lack of enthusiasm. "It isn't for no reason, I'm being serious. The little blonde has helped her realize that she loves Todd, just like I said she would."

"And how do you know it worked?" Verdandi asks, still not convinced as she pops another grape into her mouth.

"Because," Urd grits her teeth. "I know. I'm may not have ever loved, but I've certainly lived long enough to know what it looks like."

Before Verdandi can further interrogate her, Skuld interrupts their exchange. "Well what good does it do if she doesn't say it to _him_? It hardly matters what she feels if he doesn't know about it!"

Urd waves her away airily. "Have patience, sister. She has only just realized it herself, she'll tell him in her own time." Turning again to watch the images of Todd and Lovett laughing at those brave enough to play limbo, she sighs with gratification. "Just wait."

"Wait," Skuld mumbles irritably. "All we do is wait! Wait for them to stop hating each other, wait for them to become friends, wait for them to become _more _than friends. All this waiting business is hades on my nerves."

At any other time, Urd might have agreed with her, but now, with everything so close to coming full circle, she can only recall the very wise words of Lovett herself. _All good things come to those who can wait._

* * *

A/N-Okay, I've had a couple of reviewers ask me about people making the connection between the movie and Todd and Lovett. I just wanted to let you all know that the movie doesn't mention any names in my version of the story, or rather, not the names Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett. Maybe they had different names in the movie, I just wasn't feeling creative enough to make them up. Haha You'll notice that even when Sweeney's class is discussing it, it's always 'the baker' or 'his wife', but never actual names. Since Toby started the legend, I guess you could look at it like he wanted to protect Mrs. Lovett's name or something. Or whatever other plausible excuse you want to come up with:D But I just wanted to let you all know so there wouldn't be any confusion. OK, the quote is by Lord Byron, and the one Nellie thinks of is by Iris Murdoch. Thanks so much gals for your concern and your wonderful reviews. The encouragement and support means so much to me! And on a final note, who went out and got a copy of Breaking Dawn? Is it not the most fabulous thing ever? But be careful not to spoil me, I'm only on page 367!

MK-I was a big Nancy Drew fan when I was younger, I like picturing Sweeney curled up in bed and reading them as one of his guilty pleasures. Haha Seriously, I would love to have some immortal friends. Carol is so lucky, think of all the perks, like clothes and jewelry and fabulous stories about the old days.LOL Thanks for the review, I'm glad you liked the idea!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-LOL, I like Urd too, she's a lot of fun to write and I'm glad you liked the little twist the story took in the last chapter, I wasn't sure if everyone would respond to it like I hoped, but I loved the idea too much to pass it up. I can't believe you just now got the DVD! That is seriously a long time to wait, but it sounds like you're making up for it. Haha Oh, and don't worry about scarring me for life, I just filed that image of Sweeney into the folder in my brain titled 'Scary as Hell'. We're good now:D Thanks for reviewing!

Thyme-I'm so glad my story is the exception to your 'no modern Sweeney fics' rule. Haha Also, I love you for mentioning my "love scenes". I'm not really that comfortable going into more detail than I have been, but I always thought it went well enough with the tone of the story, so thank you for backing me up on that. It's great to know someone else thinks so too:D As for Sweeney's razors, I'm pretty sure he has them stashed away in that storage unit in Cairo. But then again, maybe he keeps them in his desk drawer in his classroom. LOL Thanks so much for the review!


	18. Making Traditions

Passing Strange

When class is dismissed, Professor Todd's students usually amble out slowly, a few of the brave daring to linger behind to speak with their professor. They crowd around his desk for a few minutes until they sense that he is tiring of their continued presence before tactfully excusing themselves, leaving him to the solitude of his empty classroom.

Today is very similar in that regard to every other day. It is a Wednesday, with a full week ahead of them with no tests to cram for, as a result of Thanksgiving Break. The excitement of a full week without classes drives Sweeney's students out the door far sooner than usual, and soon enough, the room is empty save for a few orphaned pieces of scrap paper lying beneath chairs and on desks. And the one student who had stayed behind after the stampede of fellow classmates had gone.

Sarah.

The girl he frequently finds staring at him in an almost trance-like state during class.

Glancing up from a sheaf of papers needing to be looked over and graded, Sweeney freezes when he notices her loitering near the front row of desks, fiddling nervously with her mini skirt. "Can I help you, Miss Davis?"

She smiles shyly, although as she slinks closer to his desk, Sweeney has a feeling there is nothing shy about her. Leaning back in his chair, he watches suspiciously as she nears his desk, placing her palms flat on the wooden surface and bending forward, revealing what little cleavage her v-neck tank top does not. "I certainly hope so," she says, tucking dark hair behind her ear.

Sweeney merely observes her quietly, having only an inkling of what she is on about but having no real proof. All he can do is wait her out. He doesn't have to wait long, and she leaves no room for him to doubt her intentions when she rounds his desk and positions herself on the edge of it, placing a hand brazenly on his knee with a coy grin.

"I thought maybe you could help me with some extra credit," she says huskily as he stiffens beneath her touch.

He had known this was coming for a while now, Sarah had been shameless in her attraction to him and as oblivious as he usually is to such things, even _he _hadn't been able to ignore her blatant come-ons. However, he had hoped that the girl's sense of propriety would keep her from rash actions that could get her expelled. Apparently, from the talk he'd heard from his own students and the gossip in the teacher's lounge, Sarah Davis is no stranger to affairs with her professors. So no, he is not surprised by her behavior, but more furious that she seems to believe without a doubt in her vain mind, that he would be interested. The thought that she knows about Eleanor and still throws herself at him only infuriates him further, and Sweeney tightens his grip on his pen, inwardly seething as his fingers flex around the fragile plastic.

"Miss Davis," he says sharply, and his tone startles the girl into paying attention, her eyes immediately snapping from staring at his lips to his eyes. "Get off my desk and out of my classroom, and I'll _consider _not reporting you directly to the dean." He glares at her. "I'm sure he doesn't take kindly to students hitting on their professors."

Sarah looks stunned, her dark eyes wide with disbelief as she sits frozen on her perch, still leaning into him wantonly. Evidently, none of the other professors she has hit on during her three years at college have ever turned the girl down because for several seconds, she can only gape at him incredulously, unmoving. It is in this awkward and deceiving position that Eleanor Lovett finds them when she breezes into Sweeney's classroom quite suddenly, only to stop just as abruptly at the scene in front of her.

Sweeney can only look on in horror as she comes to her own conclusions about what Sarah is doing perched on his desk in a very short skirt and leaning suggestively into him, hand still frozen on his knee and one high heeled foot propped up on the arm of his chair.

Brown eyes widening in realization, Eleanor takes a tentative step backward, toward the door. "Excuse me," she says, her quiet voice echoing in the empty room. "I believe I've interrupted somethin'." Turning swiftly on her heel after throwing one last glance in Sweeney's direction, she exits the room just as swiftly as she'd come.

Uttering a string of obscenities that would have made a sailor gasp, Sweeney jumps from his chair and swats the dark headed girl away from him like an annoying mosquito. "Consider yourself released from my class, Miss Davis," he growls at her, quickly gathering his jacket and briefcase. "Don't bother coming back after Thanksgiving break."

For a moment, Sarah is too shocked to speak, wrapping her arms around herself instinctively and looking more like the young girl she is and less like the seductress she had been trying to emulate. "I-I'm sorry Professor," she stutters softly. "I didn't think - "

"Miss Davis," he says through clenched teeth, already heading for the door. "I'm not particularly concerned with what you did or didn't think. Right now it's taking every ounce of self control I have not to beat you with a chalkboard eraser." He huffs to himself, already picturing the satisfaction such a thing would bring him. "Go home." Without another glance at his former student, Sweeney sweeps out of the classroom after his flustered companion.

The ground is littered with newly fallen leaves, painted varying shades of brown. In their brittleness, they crunch satisfyingly under Sweeney's booted feet as he treks across campus, trailing after a wrathful Eleanor. She doesn't so much as glance back at him to see if he is following after her, clearly not terribly concerned with this as she marches determinedly in the direction of their apartment building.

Gritting his teeth at her stubbornness, Sweeney quickens his steps in hopes of catching up to her brisk strides. The closest he can get is three feet behind her, and he snarls through clenched teeth, "Would you stop being so incredibly childish and walk at a normal pace?"

"I'm not speakin' to you right now," she snips, not even bothering to turn her head to look at him.

He sighs into the cold evening air but doesn't try to speak to her again the whole walk back to the apartment, letting her calm down on her own. The odds of her walking in right as Sarah is making her move...He shakes his head irritably. What is she doing away from the hospital now anyway? She should be elbow deep in someone's chest cavity right now! She must have left early to meet him after class, she's been looking forward to his week off for days. He can only imagine how it must have looked to her, with Sarah practically on top of him.

Sweeney follows after her as they reach their apartment building, and Eleanor walks through the door to the lobby, the warm air hitting their flushed cheeks comfortingly. She doesn't slow her pace as she heads for the elevator doors, index finger punching in the button violently, as if it alone is responsible for her rage. The doors slide open and she steps inside, Sweeney shadowing her footsteps with his own. In the otherwise empty elevator, she finally has nowhere else to run to, and Sweeney gets his first real look at her since she left his classroom. Studying her quietly as she angrily jabs at the button for their floor, Sweeney eyes her disheveled curls, and the strange but determined look in her eyes. He has never seen this look before and it rattles him, so he turns his attention to the way she impatiently taps one high heeled boot against the floor, the way she blinks rapidly and how her chest rises and falls with her irregular breathing pattern.

"Are you finished throwing your tantrum?" He bites out tersely, but she merely crosses her arms and ignores him. "You're behaving like a child."

"Well it's better than behavin' like a cheater," she snaps back. The elevator doors sliding open is accompanied by a merry '_ding_' that sounds far out of place in this situation.

Keeping up with her quick steps this time as they walk down the hallway to their apartment, Sweeney rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid. It wasn't like that."

She whirls around to face him outside their door, brown eyes alight in her fury, and he fights the strong and sudden urge to press her against the door. "And what _was _it like?" Eleanor asks. "She just came onto and you didn't 'ave time to stop 'er?"

He pauses, frowning. "Yes, actually."

Making a face, Eleanor scoffs aloud, turning her attention to shoving the key into the lock and pushing the door open. "Nice, lithe young college girl comes onto you without provocation or encouragement," she stalks into the apartment, dropping her purse and keys onto the coffee table in the living room. "Yes, I'm sure it 'appened just like that."

Louie barks once from his bed in the hallway, but doesn't move to get up and greet Eleanor like he usually does. Sweeney can't help but wonder if the dog senses the dangerous environment waiting in the next room, and thinks perhaps the dog is smarter than he'd originally thought.

"It _did _happen like that!" He insists, watching as she takes a deep breath before turning to face him, hands planted firmly on her hips. They stand nearly six feet apart, staring each other down in the middle of the living room. "Eleanor, would you just stop for one second and think like a rational person?" He asks, hoping she can't hear the desperation under his irritated tone. "Do you honestly believe that I am such a pig that I would throw away two hundred years worth of history for an unscrupulous college student I don't even like?"

"I don't know," she admits stiffly, jutting out her chin. "I'm not a pig. I don't know 'ow your minds work."

Letting out a frustrated groan, Sweeney tosses the jacket he has been gripping at the sofa angrily, but it hits the wall behind it instead, sliding into the space between the back of the sofa and the wall. This only irritates him further and he turns on her with a growl. "Why do you insist on being so bloody difficult?!"

"_Me?_" She shouts back incredulously. "What about _you_? You're not even tryin' to understand where I'm comin' from! Even if what you're sayin' is true, think about 'ow that looked to me!" He doesn't look at her, staring at the floor in stony silence. "What if you'd walked in on me an' Tom in a position like that? What would you think?"

His eyes dart up to hers suspiciously. "Why did you say Tom? Why Tom?"

She huffs in annoyance. "I just named someone."

He continues to give her an accusatory glare. "I'd kill him," he finally says matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Eleanor says mockingly, waving her arms about dramatically. "But darling, it wasn't what it _looked _like! You're jumpin' to conclusions!"

"Would you listen to yourself?" Sweeney spits out harshly. "It's not my bloody fault you walked in at the wrong time! I was going to push her away, I'd already threatened to go to the dean! And when you walked out I told her to bloody well find another history class to take!" He breaks off quickly, as though he has already said more than he had intended to, and Eleanor is staring at him wonderingly.

"Really?" She asks softly, her attention focused on her wringing hands. "You did that?"

"Damn it woman," he snaps, somewhere between adoration and the urge to smack her. "Of course I did! What do I have to do to make you understand that I - " He breaks off suddenly, clenching his fists.

Eleanor raises her eyes to his, puzzled. "That you what, love?"

He shakes his head, turning from her and striding down the hall.

Eleanor watches him go, brow furrowed in confusion. "You are _insufferable_!" She screams after him.

"Likewise!" He shouts, the slamming of the door to the guest bedroom punctuating his raging temper.

Hands clenched at her sides, Eleanor walks into the kitchen to start on her own dinner, thinking that Sweeney can bloody starve for all she cares. What right did he have to be angry? _She _was the one who'd walked in to see one of his students practically in his lap! The nerve of that man! Making herself a salad and sitting at the counter, Nellie tries not to think about that painful situation. Part of her knows that Sweeney would never be unfaithful, she has only to look at how long it took for him to move on from Lucy to confirm that. But none of that had registered with her when she'd seen Sarah leaning into him like that, she only knows that her heart had dropped into her stomach at the sight of them.

Damn that man. She had finally figured out how completely and hopelessly in love with him she is, and perhaps always had been, and he had to do this. Granted, if she is to believe his side of the story, the whole thing hadn't been his fault. Even so, this has just reinforced her decision to keep her true feelings about their relationship to herself. Telling him something like that will only make her more vulnerable around him than she already is. She is tired of being vulnerable, it hurts too much.

Nellie doesn't see Sweeney again for the remainder of the evening, and after watching Jay Leno on the sofa with Louie, she goes to bed early, ready to forget this rotten day. As she passes by the guest bedroom, she detects no movement inside, and no light indicates that Sweeney is up reading or grading papers. She sighs to herself, thinking as she climbs into bed, that Thanksgiving tomorrow should be a proper mess.

Carol has just returned from her honeymoon with Tom, and the two of them are driving to Connecticut for Thanksgiving dinner with her parents. She and Sweeney have no one to spend the holidays with but each other, and before now, she had been looking forward to it. She has spent more than enough holidays in the last two centuries by herself, and she'd been ready to finally spend one with the person she loves. But that had been before this evening.

Lying there, on what she and Sweeney had silently decided as her side of the bed, warm beneath her blankets, Eleanor stares up at the ceiling in the dark, unable to sleep without the feel of another familiar and comforting body next to her. With no one to cuddle up to, she folds her hands across her stomach and closes her eyes, hoping sleep will come.

It doesn't.

An hour passes in which she tries counting sheep, reading, and doing crossword puzzles. Heaving a defeated sigh somewhere around midnight, Eleanor turns out the light again, fighting tears of frustration. She is in the middle of trying to direct all of her tired anger to the man across the hall when her bedroom door opens quietly and soft footsteps sound across the wooden floors. Keeping perfectly still, Eleanor waits to see what he will do, wondering if he has come to get some clothes to wear in the morning, or if he has forgotten some of his papers from school.

He surprises her completely when she feels the blankets lift slightly, and the mattress dip beneath the weight of another person. She tries not to stiffen as he slides into bed beside her, arm slipping around her waist to pull her petite frame into him. He buries his face in her neck and sighs, and if she hadn't known it to be Sweeney, Eleanor might have thought he sounded content.

Unable to keep quiet any longer, though his presence has allowed her body to finally relax with the weight of much needed sleep, Eleanor opens her fatigued eyes. "I'm not asleep," she whispers into the dark.

He sighs, but this time, he sounds more tired than content.

"Thought you were mad at me?" She continues testily.

There is an uncomfortable silence before he says quietly, "I wasn't. And I couldn't sleep alone."

She softens considerably at this rather out of character admittance, her hand covering his over her flat stomach. "Me neither, love."

Sweeney shifts against her, his chest pressing into her back as he speaks into her neck. "I thought _you _were mad at _me_, pet."

She smiles at the familiar name. "No, not really. Not anymore."

His lips press against the soft spot just beneath her ear, and she can sense the tension in his muscles. "Eleanor, I didn't - "

"I know, love." She interrupts gently and feels him relax against her. "My imagination got carried away with me, is all." Nellie turns in his arms to face him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as her lips find his eagerly in the darkness of the bedroom. Just like that, the fight is over and Sweeney's favorite part begins - the making up.

_--_

Thanksgiving is a time usually spent with family and friends, a time to reflect on things to be grateful for and to stuff one's self with turkey while watching football. To Sweeney and Eleanor, it is merely another holiday to highlight how long they have been living. Sweeney and Eleanor combined have experienced roughly around two hundred Thanksgiving dinners since living in America.

The novelty has worn off.

And that is why the evening of November 27nd finds Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett on the floor of their living room, surrounded by cartons of Chinese takeout, passing a bottle of gin between them.

Munching on an egg roll, Eleanor leans her back against the coffee table. "We should make this a tradition. Much better than turkey and cranberry sauce."

Sweeney eyes Louie over his carton of rice, watching as the dog licks his lips, eyes boring into the professor's. He glares at the dog, holding his rice closer to him, as if guarding some precious cargo. Eleanor laughs at him and tosses Louie the last half of her egg roll. The hound pounces on it much faster than any animal with such short legs should be able to move, gobbling the roll up greedily.

Looking on in disgust, Sweeney stands up, leaving Eleanor sitting on the floor for only a moment before coming back into the room carrying two shot glasses she keeps hidden behind the good china. She regards him suspiciously, already cracking open her fortune cookie. "What's that for?" She asks, popping a piece of the cookie into her mouth.

He grins fiendishly. "We're adding to our new tradition, my pet. A drinking game."

She rolls her eyes, swallowing a mouthful. "Why do you like to get me drunk? You 'ave an un'ealthy obsession."

Sweeney tuts at her in displeasure. "Eleanor, you want the Chinese food and I want the drinking game. Compromise, dearest."

She frowns at him, glancing down at her fortune as she considers this. "You will live a long and prosperous life," she reads aloud, giggling. "Why doesn't it tell me somethin' I don't already know?"

He sighs impatiently. "Are you in or not?" Putting the shot glasses down on the coffee table, he takes up the bottle of gin, pouring a generous amount in each like the expert bartender he used to be.

"I'll do it," she says slowly. "If you eat your fortune cookie and read the fortune out loud. Another tradition." Eleanor smiles at him triumphantly but he only glowers in return as she tosses him the cookie.

He catches it easily and shoves the cookie into his mouth resentfully, unrolling the small scrap of white paper. _The one you love is closer than you think. _He swallows painfully, crumpling up the paper and stuffing it into his pocket.

Eleanor looks bewildered. "What? What did it say?"

"'We're not responsible for the recent cat disappearances,'" he lies quickly. "I don't think we should eat there anymore, sounds unsanitary."

Eleanor slowly nods her consent, still looking unconvinced. "I've 'ad enough cat in my food to last me a bloody lifetime." Taking up her glass dutifully, Eleanor turns her eyes to him. "Alright, Professor. What's the game?"

The feral grin he flashes her instantly makes her wary, and she finds herself wishing she had not agreed to his little game. "It's called I Never."

"Wait a minute," Eleanor interrupts. "Is this the game where you say somethin' and if you've done it, then you take a drink?"

He nods. "Precisely."

"I'm going to be bloody sloshed," she grumbles to herself. "You first."

Thinking for a moment, Sweeney says, "I've never killed a kitten."

Eleanor glares at him, picking up her glass and downing the gin. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she says, "I've never killed a man."

Sweeney brings his glass to his lips, alarmed when Eleanor does the same. "You haven't killed a man," he says, sounding unsure of himself. "Chopped them up maybe, but not - "

"We spent some time apart love," she says simply, downing her second shot. "I've done quite a few things you're probably unaware of."

This thought bothers Sweeney more than he wants to admit, and as he refills their glasses again, he vows to learn as much about Eleanor's mysterious time away from him as he possibly can. "I've never committed adultery." He watches as she picks up her drink again, raising an eyebrow at her, but she refuses to meet his gaze, looking almost ashamed of herself, which intrigues him all the more.

"I've never hit someone," she says, her gaze riveted on her glass.

They both drink.

"I've never been hit," Sweeney counters, surveying her closely.

Again, they both drink.

An uncomfortable silence follows before Sweeney clears his throat softly. "Albert?"

Her eyes fly up to meet his in surprise. "What? No, of course not!" She laughs. "Albert may 'ave gotten frustrated with me every now and then, but 'e never once laid a 'and on me. 'E loved me, 'e did." She nods almost to herself, staring into her empty shot glass.

"You never loved him."

It isn't a question, but she answers it anyway.

"No." She busies herself with picking up the bottle of gin and refilling their glasses.

"If Albert never hit you, who did?" He asks curiously, and to say she is perplexed by his sudden interest is an understatement.

"This isn't part of the game," she says, sidestepping his question. It isn't important anyway, only a scuffle she'd gotten into when she was a girl, still a mere slip of a thing, but she delights in driving him crazy this way. "Now whose turn is it?"

Pouting a little at her refusal to cooperate, he replies, "Yours."

She purses her lips in thought, trying to think of something to say that will not cause her to have to drink as well. "I've never piloted an airplane."

Just as she had suspected, Sweeney downs his shot of gin.

"I've never been a groupie at a David Bowie concert."

Eleanor drinks while he smirks at her.

"I've never styled my 'air like George Michael's."

Sweeney glares at her for daring to bring up this particular subject, but drinks nonetheless.

It continues like this for nearly two hours, with one or both of them drinking, though neither is terribly fazed, having built of quite a tolerance for gin a long time ago. However, somewhere along the way, they've forgotten what they'd been drinking for, and the game put aside for the time being, they drink simply because they want to.

"Y'know," Eleanor says, leaning into Sweeney's side. "This is the first Thanksgivin' I've spent with another person since 1954."

"Then what have you been doing all these years?" He asks, looking down at her with a frown.

She grins up at him. "Same thing you've been doin', love. _Not _celebratin'." Shifting a little as his arm drapes across her shoulders lazily, Eleanor closes her eyes. "Not Thanksgivin', not Christmas." She sighs, sounding weary. "Used to love Christmas when Albert was alive. Cooked all day long, I did." She smiles sleepily. "I remember when you moved in upstairs...when the turkey'd been cut, you and I would fight over the wishbone."

Despite himself, Sweeney smiles at this hazy memory, fingers caressing the skin of Eleanor's shoulder. "You were quite feisty."

Eleanor giggles into his chest, obviously having had more shots than he has. "You were too soft." They sit in contemplative silence as the door to the past is opened wide, and their thoughts take a much darker turn. Staring into her half empty glass of gin, Eleanor smiles sardonically. "Who would 'ave thought that naive lit'l Ben and Nellie would end up the way we 'ave? Go from friendly neighbors, pastry makin' and shavin' to slittin' throats and bakin' people into pies. Try to kill each other. Live for eternity with the past nippin' at their 'eels." She snorts. "Sounds ridiculous when you think of who we used to be, don't it?"

Sweeney doesn't respond, thinking of how warm and bright those days had been, but knowing the only reason he is sitting here on the floor with Eleanor now is because those bright days had turned so dark. He doesn't regret it.

Eleanor doesn't seem to need his participation to carry on a conversation, and as always, she continues without him, letting out a dreamy sigh. "Didn't celebrate Christmas anymore after you left. Felt like I'd lost my best friend, it did. An' when you came back...so changed..." She shakes her head, swallowing some more gin. "I always thought that if I could just get you to notice me, I could make you 'appy."

Her words take him by surprise, Eleanor isn't one for midnight confessions and he isn't sure if she is speaking of Benjamin or the demon barber he'd returned as. He isn't sure he wants to know. Surmising that she would never admit such things out loud under normal circumstances, Sweeney reaches for her glass. "I think you've had enough, pet."

She moves it out of his reach, frowning. "We 'aven't finished our game."

"Game is over," he says shortly, reaching again for her glass.

She stops him with a gentle brush of her lips against his. Pulling back slightly, her nose touching his, she smiles. "Please?"

"Fine," he growls after a moment, leaning away to suppress the temptation to carry her off to bed.

As if reading the direction his thoughts are taking him, Eleanor begins mischievously, "I've never 'ad sex with someone I didn't know."

They both drink, staring at each other in stunned silence.

"The sixties," they say together, and Sweeney grins wolfishly.

"I've never robbed a bank," he ventures.

Eleanor gulps down the gin, looking abashed.

He gapes at her, but she only smiles. "Times was hard, love."

_--_

Opening his eyes to the disagreeable light of the morning sun streaming in through the windows, Sweeney registers two things. One is that he is not in bed with Eleanor, but sprawled across the living room floor. Two is that his head feels like someone is repeatedly bashing it in with a hammer. He has vague, fuzzy memories of tiring of their drinking game, and breaking out the stronger alcohol. He can also recall some lovely memories of a game of strip poker that Eleanor had lost. Sweeney smirks despite his headache as he opens his eyes just a little and spots a pair of lacy black underwear next to an empty bottle of alcohol. It hadn't been a traditional Thanksgiving, but then, nothing about either of them had ever been traditional.

Slowly sitting up to look around, Sweeney cradles his head gently, wincing at the unwelcome sunlight filtering in through a wall of floor length windows. He doesn't realize he is alone on the floor and clad in only a pair of boxers until Eleanor wanders into the living room, fully dressed and smirking at him. He glares at her, but it doesn't have the desired effect as he covers his face with his hands and groans, "Bloody hell, Eleanor, close the curtains!"

She laughs at him, stooping down to his level on the floor with a glass of water and some aspirin. " 'Ere, love. Took some myself a couple of hours ago. You'll feel right fine in a tick." She presses a kiss to his cheek before standing up and heading back into the kitchen. "Package for you on the counter when you're feelin' like a 'uman bein' again!"

He flinches, wishing the volume of her voice would have more respect for his pounding head. Swallowing the aspirin, Sweeney thinks for a moment before lying back on the floor and closing his eyes. "UPS doesn't run on Sundays," he states quietly, but Eleanor hears him anyway.

"No, it doesn't," she admits, skipping back into the room with a heavy looking package in her arms. "It's Friday, love, only you're too hungover to remember. It came Wednesday, but I was too mad to tell you then. And then I forgot yesterday, so 'ere we are." She smiles cheerily, placing the hefty package on his chest before retreating to the sofa.

Sweeney decides she looks entirely too amused with him at the moment and merely grunts at her, shoving the heavy box from his chest and attempting to sit up again. He hardly feels comfortable walking around in boxers when Eleanor is completely dressed, he can practically feel her watching his every move. "Would you quit raping me with your eyes, woman?" He growls at her, and she cackles in response, collapsing against the sofa cushions.

"Well then get dressed!" She counters, still giggling. "I can't just ignore the fact that you don't 'ave any clothes on!"

Grumbling to himself the whole way down the hall, Sweeney throws on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt before padding back into the living room to find Eleanor absorbed in an episode of General Hospital. He sneers at cheesy acting and tries to tune it out, picking up his mysterious box and settling in on the sofa next to her. He has an idea of what this might be, now that he thinks about it. He'd been browsing on eBay in the middle of class nearly two weeks ago when something had caught his eye.

Sweeney sense feel Eleanor watching him from the corner of her eye, now only half focused on the soap opera playing out on screen, so he tries not to let his excitement show as he opens the box meticulously, having never been one for just tearing into something.

Brown wrapping paper and packing tape removed and piled on the coffee table, Sweeney peers into the box in anticipation. There, among bubble wrap and packing peanuts is his Xbox 360, along with the bonus game it had come with, Halo 3. Grinning to himself, Sweeney lifts one sleek, black controller from the box, staring at it with awe and reverence.

Eleanor rolls her eyes, more positive now than ever that all men are exactly the same, even the two hundred year old ones. Reaching into the box, she pulls out the video game, flipping it over to read the back. "A video game where you get to kill aliens." She shakes her head. "Why am I not surprised?"

He snatches the game from her grasp, looking it over. Ignoring her sarcasm, his eyes alight with an enthusiasm he cannot hide, he says, "Play with me."

Eyes widening, Eleanor stares at him. "You're kiddin' me."

"This is hardly a joking matter," he retorts.

The game console is hooked up in a matter of minutes, sitting prettily next to the DVD player. Eleanor sits on the sofa next to Sweeney, staring at the controller in her hand as though it might bite her as they wait for the game to load. "What am I s'pposed to be doin'?" She asks. "Killin' the beasties? Is that it?"

"Mostly," Sweeney explains, staring impatiently at the television screen, willing for the game to finish loading. "See, you're in the middle of an interstellar war in the 26th century, which is lead by the United Nations Space Command and an alien race called the Covenant. You're the Master Chief, waging a war in the defense of humanity. In the last two games - " Sweeney stops speaking abruptly, realizing Eleanor is staring at him. "What?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "I read the manual."

Eleanor shakes her head once, still looking at him strangely when he turns his attention from her, face lighting up as he sees the loaded game beginning. Before long, a reluctant Eleanor finds herself immersed in the fictional, futuristic video game. It may have something to do with how competitive she becomes around Sweeney Todd. She can't help but see the look in his eyes every time he shoots some intergalactic being, that same look he used to get when he took a razor to someone's throat.

His thirst for victory is contagious.

Just one alien away from moving on to the next level before Sweeney, she is locked in a shootout with a funny looking creature, all of her attention focused on delivering the killing blow. Not wanting her to win because he knows she will taunt him about it for days, Sweeney quickly hides his own super-soldier where he will not be discovered by the alien species while Sweeney abandons him and surreptitiously scoots just a little closer to the redhead next to him. When her controller is in reach and her guard down, he plucks it from her grasp in the blink of an eye. She gasps, staring at her empty hands for only a moment before turning and pouncing on him.

They fall backwards onto the sofa cushions in a violent struggle for her controller, both tugging at it with all their might, and Eleanor even stooping low enough to bite his hand. He stifles a yelp at the sting of pain, and is just about to resort to tickling her to get her off of him, when from the television comes a strange noise, and they turn simultaneously to stare it.

In her absence, Eleanor's soldier has been shot by the alien creature, effectively killing her and preventing her from moving on to the next level. Sweeney and Eleanor watch as scores and statistics scroll across the screen. Sweeney turns his head to Eleanor, lying on top of him, still reaching for her controller. "I win." Deftly and before she can stop him, he flips them over, pinning her to the sofa cushions.

She glares, her red curls twisted in every direction from their struggle. "You cheated."

He looks unimpressed. "Eleanor, I've killed hundreds and lived for nearly two hundred years. I have no qualms about taking a video game controller from you."

"Bloody bastard," she gripes, struggling against him. "You'd better 'ope Tom likes Halo because I'm never playin' with you again, that's for damn sure."

He looks down on her smugly, one hand holding her wrists together above her head while the other dangles her controller over her head cruelly. "Such a pity," he murmurs, lips suddenly against her collarbone, and her struggles all but cease. "I was beginning to enjoy myself, weren't you, pet?"

Letting out a soft moan as Sweeney's teeth nip at her skin, Eleanor winds her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her ire forgotten. "Well," she breathes, closing her eyes. "Maybe one more game."

He smiles into her neck, feeling her leg slide up his to wrap around his waist. Planting rough kisses up the graceful curve of her neck, he growls into her ear, "Always willing to give a second chance, aren't you, Eleanor?" He feels her pulse quicken beneath his touch and loses himself in the scent of her skin, too wrapped up in his euphoria to pay attention as the words slip from his mouth, unbidden, "That's why I love you."

As soon as the phrase spills from his lips, Eleanor freezes, thin arms still locked around his neck. She feels him tense above her, and knows that she didn't just imagine the words. He'd said them. "W-what?" She asks breathlessly. Her heart is thudding noisily in her chest and she wonders if he can hear it.

He is staring at her, wide-eyed, as though taken aback by his own words. "Nothing," he blinks, glancing away from her. "I just...I think I need more aspirin." He slowly lifts himself off of her, rising from the sofa and tossing their controllers onto the cushion. Unable to look her in the eye, he makes his way into the kitchen with his head down.

Eleanor sighs, squeezing her eyes shut as she listens to him rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. She has wanted to hear those words come from his mouth ever since that night weeks ago when she had come to her own conclusions about her feelings for Sweeney Todd at Carol's wedding reception, but not this way. Not when he is hungover and not thinking clearly. Not when he obviously hadn't meant to say it. She frowns. It isn't exactly the romantic setting she'd had in mind. To be honest, she hasn't let herself hope to ever hear those words from him. But now that she has, now that she knows he is capable of saying them, she'll just have to sit back and wait to for him too be ready to say them again.

It may take him fifty years, but what does time matter to her?

And when he does say it, she'll be ready.

_--_

_Fate is not quite as strange as it appears!_

Urd stares incredulously after Todd as he walks into the kitchen like a puppy with his tail between his legs. Fists clenched at her sides and eyes wide in anger, she shouts at the image. "Get back in there! You coward!" Letting out a growl of increasing frustration, she sinks to her knees, not caring in the slightest that she is wrinkling her robes beyond repair. Raising her eyes to the heavens, she says with despair, "Why? Why do you hate me so?"

Skuld rolls her eyes at her sister's theatrics, but she can also sympathize with her in her utter hopelessness. "So close..."

"And yet so far," Verdandi finishes for her in a quiet murmur. "What's the matter with him?"

Skuld shakes her head, watching Urd glower at the floor. "Doesn't he know he can say it? Surely he can see how crazy she is about him?"

"Apparently not," Urd snaps, still refusing to look up from her spot on the floor. "The man is bloody daft in the head."

Verdandi looks ponderous. "What if...what if Lovett had said it too? Would that have counted?"

Urd shakes her head glumly. "No. He has to want to say it. Both of them have to want it. It can't be forced out of them or blurted out by accident, as infuriating as that is."

Sulking as she runs slender fingers over the threads of humanity, Verdandi sighs. "So what do we do?" She looks to her sisters. "_Can _we do anything?"

"I don't know what it would be," Skuld responds when her brooding older sister does not. "It's like we've been saying, there's not much we can do at this point but wait them out." She breathes in deeply. "They're so close to mortality that I can smell it."

"Then your nose is on the fritz," Urd scowls at her.

Skuld makes a face. "Stop being so bitter, it doesn't become you."

"Besides," Verdandi interrupts before the two can get into another argument. "Didn't you just say a few weeks ago to wait?"

"Yes, yes, alright," Urd waves her away, face pinched in annoyance. "I'm waiting. But if they don't hurry up, I'm going to pay them a personal visit."

Skuld gapes at her. "You know you can't do that."

Sniffing haughtily, Urd merely squares her shoulders in defiance. "I'm Fate. I can do anything."

* * *

A/N-Hey everyone! First off, thank you so much for your reviews! I'm sure you all know by now that I'm a complete whore for reviews, so your feedback is very much loved and welcome. Secondly, I'm going on vacation for two weeks next Friday. I'm going to try and update before then, but if not, I just wanted you all to know where I'll be. Sadly, there is no internet connection at the beach house. I'll miss you all! But moving on, the quote in this chapter is by John McLeod from Frames of a Sea Lover. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

MK- LOL, Seriously, how hot would Sweeney look in a tux? All you have to do is watch the By The Sea sequence and swoon. I'm happy I gave you a warm & fuzzy chapter, those are nice to have every now and then. And I think Sweeney is already realizing how madly in love he is, he's just being terribly stubborn about it;) Thanks for the review!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-Aw, I'm glad I could cheer you up! Hopefully school's not too bad. Yeah, Carol can be annoying, but I like to think that's what makes her a decent original character, the flaws in her personality.LOL Omg, I love your mental images, they make me giggle like a crazy person. I'm happy to hear Sweeney is still his hot self, I've been striving to make sure he doesn't lose that particular trait:D Also, your friend is effing crazy. Mrs. Lovett could not be any more Sweeney's type if she took up a razor and slit throats along with him. Seriously, by the time the movie made it to My Friends, I was a shameless Sweenett shipper. Haha Thanks for the review!

Thyme-Yes, there is definite progress in the air! Yay for epiphanies! And you're right, tolerating finger tracks in peanut butter is the ultimate sign of true love. Haha About the oneshot, I'm actually thinking of starting a collection of oneshots about their past after this story is over, sort of a companion to Passing Strange. I have a couple of other story ideas in the works, but a Passing Strange prequel/sequel is definitely one of them. Thanks for the review!

Everto Tonsor-Thanks for not spoiling the book for me, and I hope you got yours done by your deadline! Ever since I reached book three I've been reading one chapter every night, trying to prolong the inevitable. Haha I'm glad you like the story, thanks for reviewing!


	19. This Is It

Passing Strange

Christmastime in New York City is a flurry of shoppers, packages and decorations while the same old holiday tunes play on a loop through the speakers of every department store in the city until one feels that if it were possible to strangle a song, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer would be the first to die.

Subconsciously humming along to this very tune as she sorts through racks of clothing in Saks Fifth Avenue with Carol, Eleanor is sure that she has seen all of these shirts before somewhere. It might have something to do with having been in this store several times this week, circling these very same clothing selections, in search of the perfect Christmas present for Sweeney Todd. The man is impossible to shop for. In spite of not having found _the _gift yet, she has managed to acquire practically an entirely new wardrobe for the professor, including not just winter apparel, but summer as well.

She had really outdone herself with the book of Shakespeare. Now, how to top it? What does one get a two hundred year old man with a love of violence and literature? In her favorite used bookstore downtown, Eleanor had rummaged through boxes and perused dusty shelves until she found something of interest to Sweeney, a very old and very rare book called Immortality Proved By The Testimony of Science, a small book that she knew Sweeney would be greatly amused by. She had payed a pretty penny for the antique, but it isn't as though she can't afford to splurge.

While the book will be a nice gift, and she is happy she had found it before anyone else could realize how valuable it is, it hadn't been _the _gift. That one, perfect, without-a-doubt right present. And so the search continues.

Feeling a strange tugging at her pant leg, Eleanor glances down to see Carol's newly acquired niece, through her marriage to Tom, looking up at her through drooping eyes. "Yes, dear?" Nellie smiles down at the petite five year old standing before her in a little plaid skirt and snow boots.

"I'm tired," she whines miserably, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "Can we go now?"

Bending down to Gillian's level, Eleanor eyes her in amusement. "Just a few more minutes love, and we'll get you somethin' to eat and 'ead to the toy store, alright?"

Gillian yawns, leaning into her and resting her head on Eleanor's shoulder. "Why not now?"

"Cause Auntie Carol's not finished yet," Eleanor explains, lifting the girl into her arms as she straightens to her full height again. " S'not polite to rush 'er."

"Why not?" Gillian inquires curiously as Eleanor shifts her to one hip so that one of her arms is free to look through the clothes racks.

Smiling at the girl's natural inquisitiveness and used to answering such questions after spending all afternoon in Gillian's company, Nellie says simply, "Well, when we go to the toy store later, would you want to be 'urried along when you're not through lookin' at the dolls?"

After seriously considering this for a moment, Gillian shrugs. "No," she says quietly, grudgingly.

Marrying Tom has given Carol more family than she knows what to do with, and her perky personality has drawn in her young nieces and nephews, making her the unofficial babysitter in her new family. Today, with Gillian's mother and father both working, the little girl had been forced to come along on a shopping adventure, trekking through snow and slush from store to store for hours, and Eleanor is impressed with the child's ability to hold it together. In the span of this afternoon, there has only been one temper tantrum, and it had been resolved with the promise of hot chocolate and a trip to the toy store.

Scanning the store for Carol's blonde head, Eleanor asks distractedly, "Now, what is it you're goin' to make your Auntie Carol buy for you, love?"

Gillian brightens at this turn of conversation, skinny arms wrapping around Eleanor's neck. "I want a teddy bear. A really big one!"

Grinning to herself, Eleanor spots Carol in the perfume department and heads with Gillian in that direction. "Why don't you find the most expensive one in the store, alright? Auntie Carol will _love _that."

"You going to buy something too?" Gillian asks, holding tighter to Eleanor as they weave through the throngs of people in the overcrowded store. "For your Mr. Todd?"

Eleanor glances down at her, confused. " 'Ow do you know about 'my Mr. Todd'?"

Gillian gives her a secret smile. "Uncle Tom says Aunt Carol has lis-lasci," she stops, brow furrowed adorably.

"Lascivious?" Eleanor finishes for her, wondering if the little girl even knows what the word means.

"Yeah," Gillian smiles. "He says Aunt Carol has las-_those_ thoughts about Mr. Todd." Eleanor laughs quietly at this as they reach Carol, where she stands at the perfume counter, spritzing a new scent on her wrist and sniffing experimentally. "So are you?" Gillian pokes her arm. "Are you gonna buy something for Mr. Todd?"

Carol looks up at Gillian's question and smiles. "Yeah, you gonna buy something for Mr. Todd, Ellie?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Don't start with me. I'm havin' an awful time findin' that man somethin' 'e'll use."

"Well you've bought him bags of clothes, some antique looking book from the stone age, what more could a man want?" Carol asks playfully, holding her wrist up to Eleanor. "Smell this."

Eleanor sniffs, then wrinkles her nose. "Too fruity."

Carol puts the sample bottle back on the counter and rubs at her wrist, as if trying to get the scent of fruity perfume out of her skin. "So what are you going to do?"

"I dunno," Nellie sighs morosely.

Carol brightens, raising her eyebrows. "You could always buy a negligee and - "

"Carol!" Eleanor clamps a hand over the blonde's mouth and shoots a pointed look at the five year old nestled sleepily into her side. "Lord, what goes on in that mind o' yours sometimes..." She trails off, shaking her head. Carol grins behind Nellie's palm, and she removes her hand before Carol has a chance to lick it.

"Speaking of my mind," Carol says, picking up another perfume bottle to examine. "I've been meaning to ask you, Tom and I are going away for Christmas to his parent's cabin in Vermont." She stops suddenly, in the middle of sniffing Jennifer Lopez's new scent. "Actually, it's our cabin now. It was a wedding gift."

Eleanor raises an eyebrow incredulously. "They gave you a cabin for a weddin' gift?" She laughs breathlessly. "What 'appened to silverware and blenders?"

Carol shrugs. "They're pretty generous. _My _parents bought us champagne glasses and a toaster." She frowns, putting down the bejeweled bottle. "Granted, they did pay for the wedding..."

Having a distinct feeling that they are about to get way off topic, Eleanor interrupts Carol's musings. "Dearie, you've lost me. What do I 'ave to do with yours and Tom's cabin?"

"Oh," Carol laughs. "I forgot. Anyway, we're leaving on Christmas Eve, we won't get back until the day after New Year's day, and we were wondering if maybe you and Sweeney might like to join us. We'll snowboard and ski and throw snowballs at Tom. It'll be fun!" She smiles brightly, squinting at a bottle of Gucci perfume, looking positively enamored with it.

Eleanor highly doubts Sweeney will want to spend a week in a cabin in the woods with Carol and Tom, but the prospect of spending the holidays with the people she loves is tempting. This year could be different from the last. Instead of spending Christmas alone, watching A Christmas Story on cable tv and sucking on candy canes, she could spend it with her friends and Sweeney, out of this maddening city. She is determined to make this Christmas better than the last one.

"Well I guess I could ask Sweeney what 'e thinks," Nellie complies easily, giving away none of her inner excitement and resolve. "But no promises, love. 'E's not the most sociable person, if you 'aven't noticed."

Carol snorts at this, balancing three bottles of Gucci perfume on top of the pile of clothing in her arms. "Actually, I was beginning to think of him as Mr. Rogers, thanks for clearing that up for me. Now I can _finally _stop expecting him to ask me to be his neighbor."

They make it to the large, family owned toy store over an hour later, and Gillian immediately scampers off to the stuffed animal section, dragging Carol with her. Eleanor leaves them to argue over whether or not fifty dollars is too much to pay for an oversized teddy bear while she explores the vast collection of toys and electronics.

There are two full aisles of Barbie dolls, another three of baby dolls, and two more of children's educational video games. Nellie meanders aimlessly through these aisles before making it to the little boy's section of the store, with fire trucks and remote controlled cars and GI Joe soldiers, occasionally stopping to experiment with an interesting looking toy or to smile at browsing parents and children.

Keeping an eye on Gillian today has drawn Eleanor's attention, not for the first time, to how much she truly loves children and how much she would like one of her own. Her biological clock has been ticking for well over one hundred years, but whatever has made her immortal has also taken away any ability she might have had to have children. Which, Eleanor supposes, is a blessing. How would she explain to a child that he or she is going to live forever, just like mummy and daddy? Or worse, what if the child didn't inherit some sort of immortality gene and Eleanor was forced to watch her own child grow old and die?

Shuddering inwardly at this, Eleanor shakes her head. No, it is definitely a good thing that she cannot have children. Toby had been her one and only chance, and she had botched that up marvelously. Even so, wandering through the aisles of toys and sidestepping giddy children, Eleanor can't help but wonder what it would be like, buying toys to put under the Christmas tree.

And then, as her aimless wandering takes her into another department of the toy store, she sees it.

The perfect gift.

_--_

Sweeney's search for Eleanor's Christmas gift is a little less difficult than hers had been, but then, she is much easier to shop for. He doesn't even think about buying her clothes, knowing enough about himself to know he has no business in the women's section of any department store.

In all truthfulness, he hadn't even wanted to celebrate Christmas. He has spent the better part of two centuries getting along just fine without the holiday, and so has she, but when the two of them had started sleeping together, Eleanor suddenly had this innate desire to celebrate every holiday known to man. Not having a particularly good reason for skipping Christmas, and annoyed with the way Eleanor went around calling him 'Mr. Grinch' and 'Scrooge', he'd reluctantly relented.

In a pawn shop this afternoon with Tom while he searches for a pair of earrings that Carol had hinted about in her own tactless manner, Sweeney shoves his hands into his coat pockets and leans over a glass countertop, staring uninterestedly into the jewelry case. Something sparkly catches his eye - a beaded jade necklace, antique looking and somehow familiar. He thinks that perhaps, a very long time ago, he might have seen this very necklace around the neck of Eleanor Lovett, sparkling prettily against a crisp cotton dress.

"Something you'd like to see, sir?" The woman behind the counter asks, smiling gently.

Sweeney looks up at her and shakes his head, knowing that if Eleanor had wanted the necklace, she would have kept it. Instead, he moves on to the back room, away from Tom's frantic searching and the clerk's prying eyes. So far, he has only managed to acquire Tom Waits' first album of the early nineties, Bone Machine, at a local record store in the middle of the city. He'd had to fight off several people with a very potent death glare to get the eminently rare vinyl album found in the disorganized bins. Eleanor has been trying to track down the album for years, it's one of the few valuable records left that she does not have in her possession.

Eleanor's eclectic taste in music is something he marvels at, and probably always will. The woman will listen to anything from Johnny Cash to Beethoven to Metallica to the most obscure band he can think of, and it astounds him that anyone can have such varying taste in music. She has been this way for as long as he can remember, her appreciation and love of music is something he cannot begin to comprehend or understand.

And with this in mind as he steps into the back room, Sweeney Todd knows exactly what else to buy for the prepossessing Lovett. There, on the far wall, gleaming resplendently even under dull florescent lighting, is a beautiful, emerald green, electric guitar. He remembers quite vividly a bright summer day, lying in a field of daises with Eleanor and her hippie friends. She'd had a guitar then, and he recalls closing his eyes and listening to her play some soothing sixties tune, until she'd grown bored and begun making daisy chains. She'd been a little prodigy in her own right, but months after he'd left and gone back to purposelessly traveling the globe like a gypsy without so much as a goodbye to his companion, she'd written to him that in order to buy a bag of weed, one of her hippie friends had stolen her guitar and sold it for a profitable fee.

She'd never bought another.

Now, standing before this goddess of all guitars, Sweeney knows that as awkward as buying and giving gifts has always been for him, he cannot leave the store until he has the guitar presently hanging on the wall. It is the perfect gift, and he owes it to Eleanor. If not for her and her irritating talent for talking him into things he does not want to do, who knows where he might be spending this Christmas, instead of in their apartment with her. She'd also gotten him his job at NYU because of her perfected art of drawing up false papers and records. And besides, he needs to make up for that embarrassing display two weeks ago when he'd said those three words that are impossible to take back and impossible to ignore.

He hadn't meant to say them, but he had lost himself in the nirvana that was the taste of Eleanor's skin, and his mouth had opened without waiting for his brain to catch up. The words have almost slipped from him several times around Eleanor, he can't seem to control his own tongue in her presence. He hasn't loved since Lucy, he isn't even sure he knows what love feels like anymore. It has been two weeks since then, and it had been awkward between them at first, but the two now excel at suppressing things, and as of now, everything is back to normal. It is almost as if it had never happened, but of course, they both know better.

Tom walks into the room empty-handed and steps up to his side, following Sweeney's awed gaze with a befuddled one of his own to the musical instrument hanging precariously on the wall. He whistles lowly. "Sweet guitar."

Sweeney nods absently.

"For you, or for the only woman in the world who will put up with you?"

Another nod.

Tom frowns at him, eyes flickering from the guitar to Sweeney and back again. "You gonna buy it or set up an altar to worship?"

Sweeney blinks once and as if coming out of a trance, turns to look at Tom silently. "You know Thomas, you're almost as irritating as your wife when you set your mind to it."

Tom grins at him, having grown used to Sweeney's particular brand of humor weeks ago. "What can I say, she's rubbing off on me."

Minutes later, Tom helps him stuff the hefty package into the trunk of their taxi and Sweeney's wallet feels significantly lighter but he doesn't regret his purchase. When he arrives back at the apartment well towards dinnertime, he hears the shower going in the bathroom and knowing it is the perfect opportunity to hide his gift from Eleanor and her nosy tendencies, he walks silently down the hall and into the guest bedroom. He slides the large box that holds the guitar and the cloth case under the bed, where it waits to be opened, along with the Tom Waits album.

Heading back down the hall, he enters their bedroom and drapes himself across the bed carelessly. An entire day spent with Tom is starting to take its toll on him, and Sweeney is determined not to move for several hours.

When Eleanor emerges from the shower and wanders into the bedroom with damp curls falling around her face and a towel wrapped around her, she nearly shrieks when she spots Sweeney reclining on the bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Clutching a hand to her heart, she says unsteadily, "Bloody 'ell, love. Scared the wits outta me, ya did."

His eyes flit to hers briefly, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. "Apologies, pet."

Heart still fluttering rapidly, Eleanor makes her way to the bed, perching on the edge of it in her towel. " 'Ave fun shoppin' with Tom?" She asks, her hand reaching out to find his.

Sweeney glares at her but squeezes her hand all the same. "He is worse than a woman. The man went into four different jewelry stores before deciding on a pair of bloody earrings!" He sounds exhausted, and Nellie takes pity on him.

Laughing to herself, she reclines on the bed next to him, leaning into his side. He doesn't seem to mind that her wet hair is soaking his shirt. "My poor, brave professor," she bemoans. "I can't imagine the 'orrors you've seen today."

He fixes her with a hard stare. "Are you mocking me, Eleanor?"

She raises wide, innocent eyes to his. "I would never." He is still glowering at her, so she leans over him to press soft kisses along his jaw line, smiling as she feels him relax under her touch. Fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, she lets her mouth stray from his jaw to the spot just behind his ear, where she nips playfully, eliciting an involuntary groan from the man sprawled out beneath her. Giggling, she pulls away to look at him once more. "I bought you somethin' today."

He raises his eyebrows, and she knows she has his attention for the time being. "Oh? And what might that be, my dear?"

Eleanor regards him scornfully. "Silly man, I can't tell you! It'll ruin the surprise."

"I don't like surprises," he retorts, looking up at her challengingly.

She scoffs at this. "Nonsense. Everybody likes surprises, good ones, anyway. And this is most definitely a good surprise."

"Eleanor," he sighs noisily. "There are no good surprises. And if there were, I would hate those too."

She looks down at him in shocked silence for several seconds before shaking her head slowly. "I always 'ad an inklin', but now I know without a doubt. You 'ave serious issues, Sweeney Todd." She begins to pull away to slip out of bed and get dressed, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back to him. She lands on his chest with a soft, "Oomph!"

Looking amused, Sweeney brings his hand up to tangle in her damp, red curls and pulls her close, brushing his lips none-too-gently against hers. Eleanor responds in kind, returning his kiss ardently, mouth opening against his. She had missed him today, so she is willing to let him have his way for now. She sighs into his warm mouth as her mind goes wonderfully blank, and he slides his hand from her hair to cup the nape of her neck with his palm. His touch against her bare skin sends liquid heat flooding through her body and she wilts against him, helpless under his touch.

He smirks into her neck at her soft whimper, his fingers fumbling with her towel, trying to pull it away from her body. She smiles at his frantic struggle and pulls away to help. Soon enough, with her assistance, his clothes join her towel in a heap on the floor.

Fifteen minutes later, still trying to catch her breath, Eleanor is curled into Sweeney's side, nearly purring with content as he runs nimble fingers through her scarlet tresses. "I just took a shower," she mumbles sleepily, failing miserably to sound angry with him. "And now I'm sweaty again thanks your bloody inability to control your manly desires."

He sneers, eyeing her lazily. "Yes, pet, and your _womanly _desires had nothing to do with it. I forced myself on you."

She glares, and just to wipe that smug look from his face, she voices what she has been trying to finds words to tell him since her conversation with Carol earlier in the day. "Carol asked us to go with 'er and Tom to their cabin in Vermont for Christmas an' I said we'd go." Granted, she hadn't said they'd go, _per se_, but it will be easier to convince him if he thinks she has already made plans.

As she had suspected, Sweeney's afterglow is cut short rather abruptly, and he is up on one elbow before she can blink. "What? Woman, are you bloody _insane_?"

"Oh come on, love," she says, ready to plead her case as she sits up, holding the sheet to her body. "You like Tom well enough, and this'll be my first Christmas spent with people that I - " She stops, catching herself. "The people that I care about in over fifty years!" He doesn't look convinced, and she scrambles to find something good in the experience for him. "We'll be back before your classes start up again, and we won't be 'ere for the rabid crowds for Christmas and New Year's. We'll be gettin' back just as they're leavin'!" He still doesn't look convinced, practically burning a hole in the ceiling with his glare. "And we'll miss the Christmas Parade and watchin' the ball drop in Time's Square."

She has been telling him for weeks that she wants to attend the annual Christmas Parade in downtown Manhattan, and be in Time's Square to watch the ball drop, and he has been dreading both events ever since. The prospect of getting out of these atrocities is enough to make Sweeney reconsider his reluctance. "Well," he says slowly. "The city _does _tend to get rather congested during the holidays..."

She grins up at him, knowing she has won him over. "That's right, love. And what about all those Santa Clauses standin' on street corners, ringin' those bells that you 'ate so much and askin' for money? You'll avoid those altogether."

That does it.

"Oh alright," he snaps irritably, grimacing when she leans in to press a gleeful kiss to his cheek.

"I'm goin' to call Carol and tell 'er you said yes," she says, sliding from the warmth of bed to pull on a pair of black pants and a cashmere sweater. "Get dressed, we're goin' out to dinner." She gives him another delighted grin and skips from the room like a giddy child, leaving Sweeney to roll his eyes and burrow deeper into his pillow, having no intention of getting out of bed to brave the snow.

Of course, in a matter of minutes, Eleanor hangs up the telephone, and drags him out of bed and onto the New York City sidewalks, still bustling with people despite the cold weather. She pulls him into a coffee shop near Rockefeller Center, and from their position at the front of the shop at a small table, they can see the huge Christmas Tree and ice skating rink that the plaza is famous for.

Snow is falling heavily outside of the warm coffee shop, smelling of cappuccino and fresh bagels, but the ice rink is still occupied by three people brave enough to withstand the conditions. Eleanor stares out at them intently as she sips at her coffee, watching as skaters whirl on the ice, the very picture of elegance, oblivious to the frigid temperature.

One man holds his small daughter's hand, helping her along as she clumsily tries to find her footing with blades on her skates instead of wheels. The other person is a woman, bundled up tightly with a coat, hat and scarf, but Eleanor can see her breath fogging the air as she exhales even from the safety of the café. The chilly night air and the enchanting picture before her calls to Nellie, whispering in her ear how nice it would be to join those three souls, since she hasn't had the opportunity to skate in years. Not since that trip to Greenland with Ingrid Bergman in the forties.

When she has taken her last gulp of caffeine, she turns to Sweeney and says, "Skate with me."

"Not a chance in hell," is his immediate response, and one she had no doubt been expecting. "But I'll gladly sit here in this heated coffee shop with you and watch other people freeze their asses off out there."

"Such a stick in the mud, you are," she complains, pushing her empty cup toward him and shrugging out of her coat. " 'Old this then." She tosses it into his lap and stands up. Nellie hadn't expected him to agree to come with her, because even _she _is on the verge of getting the giggles picturing Sweeney Todd on ice skates, but she isn't about to let him stop her from going out there herself.

"Where are you going?" He asks, looking perplexed. "It's bloody below zero out there!"

"What?" She asks teasingly. "Afraid I'll freeze to death?"

He frowns. "No, but you could get sick, and I'm not in the mood to stay home and take care of you again."

"You're so sweet to me, love," she says dryly, with a roll of her eyes.

Despite his protests, she crosses the street to the ice rink and he dutifully follows, making himself comfortable on a cold metal bench to watch as she plays around on the ice like a little girl. The bench is as frozen as ice, and the cold seeps through the material of his jeans, chilling him to the bone and rendering him powerless to do anything but shiver.

Trying to ignore this while white flakes fall at an alarming rate from the darkening sky, Sweeney watches as Eleanor twirls expertly, as though she had been born with those damned skates on her feet. Laying one hand on the warmth of her coat, Sweeney almost smiles despite himself as she skates around the rink, chatting with a man and his young daughter, snowflakes catching in her curls.

She looks up at him once, after a particularly complicated pirouette, as though feeling his eyes on her, and waves, smiling luminously. As irritated as he is to be sitting outside in the middle of December, freezing, she looks so ridiculously happy that he cannot manage to scowl back at her. So instead, he raises his eyebrows in return, continuing to study her. She looks the part of some winter goddess, standing out there in the middle of the ice rink in her soft white sweater and snow falling around her like rain.

Her cheeks are flushed from the biting winter air, as though some invisible hand has pinched the apples of her cheeks into a shade of deep pink. Her breath escapes her in small, visible exhalations, reminding him of the way she sits on the windowsill in the study to smoke so it doesn't permeate the apartment, breathing out smoke like air, a cigarette between her fingers and a pack of Camels on the sill next to her.

He adores her, he realizes suddenly with something akin to alarm. He grudgingly adores every single idiosyncrasy, from the way she gets so much child-like enjoyment from something like skating in the snow, to the way her pulse quickens every time he touches her. He adores her smile, those auburn ringlets, that accent, her easy smile, her uncanny and most annoying proficiency at winning most of their arguments. He adores how clever she is, and admires the way she always manages to outsmart him. He loves the way she kisses him as though nothing else in the world matters when she is in his arms, and he loves that he feels much the same way when he kisses her back.

Sweeney Todd realizes then, sitting on a bench in Rockefeller Center in the midst of falling snowflakes, that he _does _remember what love feels like. And this is it.

_--_

_There is a fine line between coincidence and fate..._

Carol, once again, is serving her purpose well. Inviting Todd and Lovett to a cabin out of the city, in the middle of the woods, is brilliant, and just what they need. Christmas is the most romantic time of the year, in Urd's indispensable opinion. Unlike the overrated and commercialized Valentine's Day. Urd shudders just thinking about that nightmarish holiday in February. No, Christmastime is the time for romance. The snow, the carols, the feeling of goodwill in the air.

A trip to Vermont is exactly what the two need, although, knowing Todd and Lovett, they'll need a bit more than a romantic setting to push them along. Urd is way ahead of this particular setback, and has already assured that Kurtis Russell and his wealthy family end up in the same snow drenched mountains for their Christmas getaway plans.

"Are you sure about this?" Verdandi asks nervously, already foreseeing how badly this could go if not orchestrated properly.

Urd gives her a disbelieving look. "If I wasn't sure, do you really believe that I would do it? Like I've spent the last two hundred years building up this relationship just to destroy it?" She pauses. "Besides, if Kurtis cannot do it, than I'll do as I threatened earlier and go down there myself."

Skuld puts a hand on her hip, ready to talk her older sister out of her crazy scheme. "You know very well that you cannot be so extreme in your interference. There are rules about these sorts of things, which I'm sure you are aware of."

Urd rolls her eyes at her sister's idiocy. "I didn't mean show up in the form I am in now." She gestures to herself. "I meant another form entirely. One they won't recognize or find suspicious in the slightest."

Skuld still doesn't look convinced, and Verdandi hovers in the background like a skittish bird, twirling a lock of hair anxiously. "You're not allowed to meddle like that!" Skuld persists. "It's _against the rules_!"

Resisting the urge to say something along the lines of 'hang the rules', Urd begins speaking slowly, as though trying to converse with a simpleton. She enunciates carefully. "It's not against the rules if they don't know it's me. They'll never suspect that Fate had a hand in any of this."

Skuld glares at her. "You'd better hope not."

"Oh don't be such a worry wart," Urd says airily, turning to watch Todd and Lovett walk back to their apartment hand in hand, traipsing through the snow. She is already formulating a plan for the best way to get them to say those three magic words, should Kurtis fail. The more adventurous part of her hopes that he does, it has been many a millennia since she has set foot on Earth.

* * *

A/N-Hey guys! Sorry I didn't get a chapter up before I left, and it has taken me a while to get one up since I got back. My parents sold my dog against my will because they suddenly decided they couldn't stand dog hair, so I've been a mess and missing him terribly. So there's my excuse:) On a lighter and weirder note, I was browsing in a consignment shop while I was on vacation, and like always, was immediately drawn to the shelves of books. Well, I bought The Five People You Meet In Heaven, which I've read but never bought. It was only fifty cents. Anyhow, I get it back to the beach house and open the cover, and there's an inscription on the inside. And no freaking joke, this is what it said, 'To Ellie, I think you may be one of the five people I will meet in heaven! Love, Carol' No kidding, that's exactly what it said. Freaked me the heck out. Weird coincidence, huh? Hmm...or maybe it was Urd's doing.LOL Oh, I also bought a really old copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare, and had By The Sea stuck in my head every time I stepped foot on a beach, so I was a happy camper:D Quote is from The Mummy Returns, actually. Haha Thanks so much for your reviews, you know how much I adore hearing from you all. Also, check out my bio page for the link to a banner Phantomfr33k24601made for this story. It's SO prettiful! By the way, you're only getting this chapter today because she said so, so be grateful:D

MK-LOL, I'm glad you got a kick out of Sweeney and his gaming fascination. I have a couple of guy friends who are obsessed with Halo. I tried to play once, and freaked out because an alien was coming to get me, and I ran under the water, forgot which way I was going and drowned.Haha I'm horrible at video games, so I made sure Eleanor could kick butt. Thanks so much for your review!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-That is most definitely your longest review yet, and believe me, I don't mind.Haha Long reviews pwn all. Dude, don't let Sweeney get wind of your idea. He probably hasn't thought of serving up his students in the school cafeteria. Too bad I didn't make Nellie a lunch lady - that would totally work.Haha I'm so happy you liked the drinking game sequence, that was so much fun to write. But also a bit of a pain coming up with things, so I'm glad it's appreciated:D Hopefully this chapter explained a least a little why Sweeney is so reluctant to say those three little words. Also, he's the most stubborn man alive, so there's that. Oh, I'm terrible at math too. I mean, my brain goes into overload when I so much as look at an algebra textbook.LOL Don't sue me for not using my talents, us poor writers can't afford the lawyer bills! And yeah, picturing Sweeney in nothing but boxers made me lose my concentration too. Can you say YUM? Thanks for the review! P.S. I LOVE your mother now.Haha

Thyme-Haha, I don't think Sweeney can hold it against Eleanor for staring. I mean, it would be a crime NOT to look, non? So glad to hear you like the drinking game and the fight, it's a lot of fun to write them when they're irritated with each other. Which is practically all the time...Hmm... ANYhow, yes, men are annoyingly competitive, I think it's in their blood. Especially if they're murderous barbers to begin with.Haha Thanks for reviewing!


	20. Merry Little Christmas

Passing Strange

The only thing worse than unpacking from an extended trip, is packing for it. For Eleanor Lovett, loathsome is not a strong enough adjective to describe her hatred for the whole ritual. With two suitcase open on her bed, one empty and the other only half full, she finds it a little amusing that she isn't used to packing up by now. After all, she has been through two centuries of moving from place to place before someone starts getting suspicious about her ever-youthful skin.

She always stays for a few years, and always manages to get attached to someone or even several someones before she leaves, which makes the whole experience even more painful. Sweeney, however, has never stayed in one place for over a year, never getting attached and traveling light so that he can pack up at a moment's notice. For him, packing is routine, almost commonplace. And that, Eleanor deduces, is why his bags are already packed and waiting by the door, and she is still standing in the middle of her bedroom, biting her lip and staring at her suitcases.

Carol and Tom will be stopping by their apartment to pick them up at noon so they can be at the cabin by dinnertime, and it is already 11:15. Yet, Eleanor cannot bring herself to move, and continues to have a staring contest with the bags, as though waiting for one of them to reach out and bite her. She seems to freeze up when it comes to packing, she has always hated having to leave the place she temporarily calls home, and always puts off packing until the last second. It is a habit that has stuck with her through many years, and many relocations and she can't seem to relay to her brain that she is not leaving this place permanently, but only for a week.

Her trance is only broken by the sound of Sweeney's voice, "You know, staring at them like that isn't going to make them pack themselves, pet."

Jumping at his startling intrusion, Nellie turns to find him standing in the doorway. "Bloody 'ell. I'm goin' to 'ave to start puttin' a bell around your neck! Silent as the bloody grave, you are."

He ignores her, glancing pointedly at her luggage. "Is there any particular reason why you are not packing?"

She joins him in studying her suitcases. "Procrastination 'as been an old friend of mine for a very long time, love. 'Ard to part with 'im after such a lengthy friendship."

Slowly walking into the room, Sweeney stands behind her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her snugly into him. "Allow me to introduce you to your new friend, Eleanor. His name is 'We're Going To Be Bloody Late If You Don't Hurry Up.'"

Eleanor winces, leaning back into his chest. "Don't much like the sound of that. 'E doesn't seem as friendly as Procrastination."

Sweeney sighs exasperatedly. "Woman, do you want me to pack for you?"

"No," she says quickly, imagining him packing nothing but negligees and high heels.

"Then move it," he says lowly into her ear, giving her a gentle shove toward her luggage for good measure.

Pouting, Eleanor slowly begins pulling garments from her closet and dresser drawers, stuffing her bags until she can barely zip them up when she is finished. After lugging the last bag down the hall and dropping it by the apartment door, she brushes her hair out of her face to find Sweeney staring at her incredulously.

"We're only going to be away for a week, what the hell do you need four bags for?" He asks, his voice sounding very close to hysterical.

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't 'ave a fit. Only three of those bags are mine, the last one is Louie's."

He stares at her as though he has just discovered her second head. It takes him several seconds before he finds his voice to speak. "Your," he stops, as though recovering himself and begins again. "Your _dog _needs a suitcase?"

"Of course 'e does," she says breezily. " E's got dog food and dog bowls, and 'is dog pillow, and 'is toys and sweaters."

Sweeney groans at this, picturing Louie in a dog sweatshirt out in the snow. "Bloody hell, Eleanor."

She decides to overlook his exasperation. "Now, Tom and Carol will be 'ere any minute. Why don't you start carryin' our bags down to the lobby and I'll try to find Louie." The dog has disappeared for the time being, and Eleanor is in no mood for the dog's rather odd set of quirks, and that includes vanishing into thin air. As Sweeney grumbles to himself and begins picking up their bags to take downstairs, Nellie tiptoes through the apartment so as not to startle the basset hound hiding out somewhere close. "Louie?" She calls out in her best sing-song voice. "Where are you, love?"

Hearing a soft, faint whine echo from somewhere down the hall, Eleanor slinks as silently down the hallway as her Ugg boots will allow her, listening for any other hint of noise from the MIA hound. She doesn't hear another sound from him, and resorts to checking in every space big enough for him to crawl into. The laundry basket in the bathroom where he likes to take his afternoon naps is empty, besides a few towels Eleanor had neglected to wash before their trip. The overstuffed chair in the study where he likes to chew on Sweeney's boot is also bereft of life, and Eleanor knows the only other place he could be is the guest bedroom.

"Louie," she calls out sweetly, hoping to lure him to her. "Darlin' there's nothin' to be frightened of. Mummy's going to put you in the car for a ride, that's all." Peering into the guest bedroom and not finding Louie within immediate sight, she sighs. "I packed all of your toys, love. You can't back out now."

The guest room is silent except for the soft, shallow breathing of a certain chubby basset hound, and Nellie suspects he is hiding under the bed, looking out at her. Putting a hand on her hip, she fixes a glare at the darkened space beneath the bed and says sternly. "Louie Oliver Lovett, you come out from there right this minute or I'll make you sit on Mr. Todd's lap for the entire car ride."

As though understanding Eleanor's threat, Louie paws his way out from under the bed, his nails scratching at the wood floor, until his head is visible and looks up at her through sad brown eyes. Eleanor's gaze is unwavering however, and Louie gives a strange, almost human sounding huff, as if he is annoyed with her. She snorts at his reluctance and bends down to his level, taking him into her arms with difficulty and tugging him completely out from under the bed.

Eleanor tuts her disapproval as she puts him back down, looming over him. "No more _It's Me Or The Dog _for you. Their behavior is rubbin' off on you, love." Pulling a treat from the pocket of her jeans, Eleanor lures him into the living room, where she pops it into his waiting mouth and puts on his leash while he is distracted.

When she finally makes it down to the lobby with Louie in tow, Tom is out on the curb helping Sweeney load their luggage into the trunk while Carol sits in the passenger seat of the SUV, laughing at their struggles. Carol has chopped off her blonde hair, cutting into an angle bob that falls to her chin. It suits her, and Eleanor is jealous that her own hair would never look so sleek and shiny at that length, but rather like a poodle who had taken a blow dryer to its fur.

With the luggage safely ensconced in the hatchback, and Tom behind the wheel, the SUV pulls smoothly into Manhattan traffic. Eleanor sits between Sweeney and Louie to keep the peace among them, and Louie occupies his time staring out the window, his nose smearing the glass. Sweeney sneers at the dog and is promptly rewarded with a jab to the side from Eleanor's elbow.

He glares down at her and she glares right back, arms crossed over her chest. "It's a five hour car ride," she says tersely. "I won't 'ave you glarin' daggers at the dog the 'ole way."

Sweeney rolls his eyes. "He's a _dog_, Eleanor. He doesn't know what I'm doing and glaring at him makes me feel better."

" 'E can sense 'ostility," she reasons stubbornly. "You make 'im uncomfortable."

From the front of the car, the two of them hear a snort of laughter come from Tom, and they both turn their heads to find him staring straight ahead at the road in front of him, biting his lip to keep from grinning.

"Oh shut up Tom," Eleanor snaps good naturedly. "Or I'll make _you _uncomfortable."

Tom can no longer hold back a smile at these words, and he openly grins at her through the rearview mirror. "Ooh, I'm scared, Ellie May." Eleanor glowers at him for the Beverly Hillbillies reference. "What're you gonna do, glare me to death?"

From the passenger seat next to him, Carol pauses in trying to apply her eyeliner without smudging it to give Tom a look. "No, she'll make her best friend do her dirty work for her." She reaches out and pokes Tom in the ribs teasingly.

He jerks away from her touch with a very unmanly giggle, and the car swerves to the left momentarily, everyone lurching to the side with it. "No tickling the driver!" He says loudly, for everyone in the car to hear as he rights the steering wheel.

"Bloody 'ell," Eleanor says breathlessly, helping Louie up from the floor and back into his seat. "I'd like to get to Vermont in one piece if you don't mind, love."

Tom looks pointedly to his wife. "Blame the psycho blonde. She uses her wifely knowledge of my ticklish spots for evil instead of good."

Behind Carol, Sweeney presses his forehead to his window, watching city streets pass by glumly and mumbling something about not being able to survive five hours in the car with them all, and looking for his razor.

_--_

The cabin turns out to be not so much a cabin in the woods as much as a small mansion on sprawling grounds covered with several feet of snow. As the SUV pulls into the driveway, Eleanor laughs quietly. "You call this a cabin, eh? I'd 'ate to see what an estate looks like to you lot."

Carol rolls her eyes, moving to push blonde hair over her shoulder only to remember that it is no longer there to push away. Instead, she runs her fingers through newly shortened hair and turns in her seat to regard Eleanor. The redhead is wedged between a basset hound asleep with his head on her lap, and a dozing Sweeney Todd, whose head is resting comfortably on her shoulder. "Well don't you three look nice and cozy. I call dibs on the Ellie-pillow on the way back!"

Looking between the man and dog on either side of her, Nellie frowns. "I do believe you'll 'ave to fight for me, love."

"Oh she will," Tom insists as the car comes to a stop right outside the house. "She may be scrawny, but she's scrappy."

Carol punches him on the arm before looking at Nellie again. "Come on, get your boys inside. There are three bedrooms on the second floor, so take your pick." She smirks. "Although, if I were you, I'd take the third door on the right. It has the sturdiest bed."

Eleanor's eyes widen at this, and she reaches over, launching one of Louie's dog treats at the blonde's head. "Is your mind always in the gutter?"

"Yes," she and Tom answer simultaneously.

"A week with the two of you," Eleanor mutters. As Carol and Tom climb out of the car and move to the back to unload all of the suitcases, Eleanor nudges Sweeney awake gently. "Sweeney, love. Time to wake up."

He shifts and grumbles against her neck and she swallows against the feeling of his lips on her skin. Reaching up, she swiftly runs her fingers through his dark hair, coaxing him awake. The length of his hair is almost below his ears now, and she is going to have to start badgering him to cut it, or at least give it a trim. He can't very well be a professor if he's going to go around looking like he belongs on a stage with a set of drums.

Finally, Sweeney sits up, taking the weight off of her aching shoulder. "This is it?" He asks, looking around blearily.

Eleanor fights a smile at his sleepy voice and nods. " 'Elp me with the luggage, would you, dear?"

He gets out of the car slowly, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, and goes around to the back as she helps Louie hop down from the seat. "Which room is ours?" He asks, after hoisting up several bags at once.

Giving him a smirk he doesn't understand, Eleanor answers, "Second floor. Third door on the right."

The lodge located down the hill is full of vacationers just like Eleanor, renting skis, buying cups of coffee to stay warm, and trading stories about the killer jump they'd just gone off of with their snowboards. Eleanor is here for the caffeine, because while Tom and Carol's kitchen is equipped with a coffee maker, it doesn't do much good unless it has coffee grounds inside.

Standing in line, scarf around her neck and hands shoved into the pockets of her pullover, Eleanor suppresses a yawn, fatigued from the long car ride. The rest of her companions are not nearly as dependent on caffeine as she is, and they had been willing to wait for a trip to the grocery store to stock up on caffeinated supplies, but Nellie isn't as patient as she used to be, not when it comes to coffee. Waiting doesn't apply to coffee in Eleanor Lovett's world.

So, standing alone in line, well past dinner, and a trek back up the hill to the cabin ahead of her, Eleanor is in no mood for a surprise but that is just what she gets when a low voice behind her says, "Excuse me, pretty lady but I believe we've met before."

Inwardly wandering if it is another one of her old boyfriends from thirty years ago, Eleanor grimaces, turning around and finding her suspicions only slightly off. Eyes widening in shock, she takes a step back and laughs. "Kurtis Russell, what a terrible surprise. What are you doin' 'ere?"

He laughs, pulling off his ski cap to reveal mussed blonde hair. "The parents own a cabin out here. We decided to get out of the city this year, and I brought along a couple of friends for some wicked snow boarding." Eleanor turns her eyes to the board resting against his leg. The hobby suits him somehow, and she smiles at the snow covering his boots and pant legs. "You here with the professor?" His eyes widen suddenly. "Dude, you two should come snowboarding with is tomorrow, it'll be a blast."

Eleanor nods, wondering how Sweeney will take the news that his least favorite student has ended up in the same vacation spot and wants to go snowboarding with him. "Yes, 'im and another couple. You'll 'ave to come by and see us, love. I'm sure Sweeney would love to say 'ello."

Kurtis gives her a skeptical look. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what he'd say."

Eleanor makes a face. "Twas only tryin' to be polite, boy."

He shrugs. "I appreciate the gesture."

"Dude!" Comes a call from the other side of the lobby. A boy with short dark hair is standing in the doorway, looking at Kurtis impatiently, holding a snowboard of his own. "We're going, are coming or staying here to blab like a girl?"

Kurtis rolls his eyes and begins backing up toward the door, still facing Nellie. "Seriously, you guys should meet up with us tomorrow. We'll board, I can kick the professor's ass, it'll be fun."

Eleanor nods slowly, watching in amusement as he turns on his heel and races out the door, jumping into the back of a pickup truck parked outside. She sighs to herself, turning to the counter to place her order. Sweeney is going to be _so _pissed.

An hour later, after everyone has settled in, the smell of chicken noodle soup and Tom's special recipe peanut butter sandwiches fill the kitchen with a strange combination of scents. Eleanor feels dizzy with the heady smell of it all as she sits at the table with Sweeney, letting Carol and Tom cook at their insistence. Louie follows both of them around the kitchen obediently, waiting for them to drop a morsel for him.

In the middle of playing a game of War, Eleanor holds one deck of cards in her hand, with another pile of them sitting off to the side - her winnings so far. She and Sweeney set their cards down at the same time, and she lets out a groan when she sees her four and his nine. "Damn it," she sighs. "This bloody game was almost over."

Sweeney does not look particularly happy with this turn of events either. His competitive streak has faded for this game, boredom and frustration taking its place. Right now, all he wants is to get this card game over with, but like any real war, the game of War stretches on for an ungodly amount of time. So far, Sweeney and Eleanor have been in the middle of this particular game ever since her return from the lodge. It is not how they had hoped to spend their Christmas Eve.

Slumped in her chair with elbows on the table, and cheek in one hand, Eleanor sluggishly puts down another card with her free hand. A six, which loses to Sweeney's Ace. "Bloody 'ell."

Carol laughs from her position standing over the stove. "Has the magic gone out of the game?"

"I don't believe there was ever any magic," Sweeney says morosely, chin in hand. His eyes meet Eleanor's, and she looks equally unenthused. "War is a terribly romanticized notion. Shall we call it quits, pet?"

She bristles at this, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, where it has fallen from her ponytail. "I 'ate quittin' in the middle of a card game." She glances down at her rather generous pile of cards. "Seems unsportsmanlike."

"Not if it's mutual, my dearest," he reminds her gently, hoping with everything in him that she will agree and he can move away from these cursed cards.

She squints at him. "It's a draw, then?"

He holds out his hand for her to shake. "Agreed."

Eleanor slips her hand into his, her handshake surprisingly firm for someone so small. "We 'ave an accord, Mr. Todd."

Relieved, Sweeney brings her hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the silk of her skin. She simpers in return, her eyes locked on his as his mouth strays to her knuckles, kissing every one with a tenderness that surprises her. Her eyes nearly flutter closed at his butterfly-light touch.

"Oh geez," Carol sighs, startling them both from their reverie. "I'm a newlywed and _I'm _disgusted. Get a room."

Sweeney drops her hand reluctantly, his eyes leaving hers and Eleanor feels strangely cold at the loss of eye contact. Standing up, she leaves the cards on the table and reaches for Sweeney's hand instead, pulling him up with his cooperation. "If you insist," Eleanor smiles mischievously at Carol, turning from the room to head upstairs, dragging Sweeney behind her like a puppy on a leash.

Carol looks scandalized, and Tom lets out a loud guffaw. "Filthy! You're filthy, Ellie Lovett!"

Eleanor giggles at Carol's words as she and Sweeney reach the top of the stairs, but it quickly turns into a startled gasp when he presses her against the wall at the landing, his lips finding hers immediately. He palms her cheek in his hand gently, and kisses her with such reverence that Eleanor nearly melts in his arms. He holds her up in his firm grasp, mouth still plundering hers with sweet kisses.

Bringing trembling limbs up to wrap around his neck, Eleanor sighs quietly with content, perfectly happy to stay here in the hallway if he is going to continue kissing her like this. One strong arm wraps around her tiny waist, and Sweeney pulls away to look at her, his brown gaze piercing. Panting, Eleanor can only stare back at him, lips red and swollen from his kisses. He brings one hand up to brush an errant curl from her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek.

"My Nellie," he breathes, holding her close, burying his face in her shoulder, breathing in her scent.

"Yes," she whispers back, all too eager to play along with his uncharacteristic tenderness, her fingers dancing at the base of his neck. "Yours, forever."

He has been treating her gently until now, taking his time and handling her as though she is some delicate thing that might snap between his fingers if he grips her too tightly. But at her words, he is Sweeney Todd again, his lips on hers, urgent and insistent. In one swift movement, he lifts her up so that her legs are forced to wrap around his waist, and he walks with her to their bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them.

He carries her to the bed, her giggling into his shoulder at his hurried pace, and drops her onto the mattress. Nellie lets out a surprised squeak, and twists around to look behind her, pulling out the box her back had hit upon landing on the bed. Their luggage has been unpacked and put away, except for this one small package on the bed, wrapped in festive paper and addressed to Sweeney Todd.

She smiles, looking up at him, box in hand. "One of your presents," she says, shaking it enticingly at him. "Wanna open it?"

He raises an amused eyebrow at her. "I'm much more interested in unwrapping something else, pet. It's prettier, and decidedly more fascinating."

She grins into his mouth when he leans over her to press his lips to hers, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull him onto the mattress with her. Scooting further up the bed and pulling Sweeney with her, Eleanor finally detaches herself from him to push the box into his hands. "Come on love," she says breathlessly. "It's Christmas Eve, you 'ave to open somethin'. That's 'ow it works."

He sighs, looking defeated and flopping onto his back next to her, gift in hand. Giving it an experimental shake, he looks at it warily. "It doesn't..._breathe_, does it?"

Eleanor's only response is a scathing look. "Just open it, you ungrateful bloke."

Sweeney has always been uncomfortable opening gifts in front of gift-givers. It puts pressure on the receiver of the gift to like whatever they have been given. While he knows whatever Eleanor has so meticulously wrapped is sure to be something he'll want or need, it still leaves him having to express how much he likes it. Expressing any sort of emotion has never been one of Sweeney Todd's strong points.

His worries fade away however, when he tears away the wrapping paper to reveal a Sony Playstation Portable. Eleanor is sitting up on her knees, watching him intently, almost bouncing up and down in her anticipation but he can only stare at the gift in front of him, nearly shaking with the thought of using it. He has been reading about these things, the first handheld game console to use an optical disc format. It connects to the internet, other PSPs and despite its sleek figure, it has a very large viewing screen for the best possible viewing and gaming experience.

Continuing to regard his gift with the wonder of a man who has just met his soulmate, Sweeney doesn't notice that Eleanor is close to combusting until her bouncing jars him from his trance. He looks over at her to see her face hopeful as she chews nervously on one fingernail.

"Well?" She asks timidly. "What do ya think, love? Is it alright?" Sweeney glances back down at his new toy as she begins to babble to herself. "I mean, if you don't like it, the man at the store said you could bring it back and exchange it for somethin' else. You're obsessed with your Xbox and I thought that maybe you could use it when you're in class or on the subway on your way to work but if you don't - "

"Eleanor," he interrupts with a roll of his eyes. "Shut up and come here." He reaches out to her, tugging on the hem of her sweater and roughly pulling her into his lap.

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down uncertainly. "So you like it?"

He nods, his forehead pressed to hers as he meets her gaze. "I like it very much, pet." He glances away awkwardly before looking into her eyes again. "Thank you."

She lights up at this, and closes the gap between them, becoming lost in a world of his kisses once more. She is just beginning to forget herself in his muscular embrace, turning in his lap to press herself into him, when Sweeney pulls away. "What now?" She asks huffily, beginning to lose her patience with all these interruptions.

"I can't very well open one of my gifts without letting you open one of yours, can I?" He asks, and she hates that knowing look in his eyes. He knows perfectly well that she never could resist a gift, especially if it's from him. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Since when do you care about bein' fair?" She complains.

He merely raises his eyebrows at her.

Growling a little to herself in a way that reminds Sweeney oddly of himself, Eleanor removes herself from his lap and sighs. "Alright, love. Let's see it." She holds out a hand, looking up at him expectantly.

Sweeney almost chuckles, which surprises her. "You're not going to be able to hold it in the palm of your hand, Eleanor. It - "

She frowns. "Lord. You didn't get me somethin' that breathes, did ya? I mean, I love Louie and all, but another dog? I'd - "

"It's not an animal," he huffs irritably. "And I'll thank you not to interrupt me."

Pouting, Eleanor folds her hands in her lap and waits for him to continue.

"As I was saying," he gives her a pointed look. "It will require the use of both hands."

"But what - " Eleanor begins, only to close her mouth again upon Sweeney's glare. Instead, she settles for watching him cross the room to their closet and pull out a lengthy box obviously not wrapped by Sweeney. It looks as though he had taken it somewhere to have it wrapped, with its shiny green paper and beautifully tied velvet ribbon. He places it on the bed in front of her cautiously and backs away, settling onto a well cushioned chair in the corner.

Nellie glances at the gift, then at him, and he nods once. Taking it as her cue, she slowly reaches for the package, using tremulous fingers to untie the intricate bow. Putting it carefully aside, she starts on the wrapping paper, the trembling in her fingers becoming more violent when she realizes Sweeney is watching her intently from the corner of the room. Her mind is working furiously to come up with something, anything, that could be inside this box, and so far it has come up with absolutely nothing. Sweeney Todd doesn't buy extravagant gifts, it just isn't done. In all honesty, she will be happy with whatever resides inside the box, be it a lavish, oversized trinket or a set of dish towels. To say she is surprised to open the box and find the most beautiful electric guitar she has ever seen would not be nearly enough to express her shock.

Amazed, maybe. Dumbfounded, perhaps. Speechless, most definitely.

A sharp intake of breath is all she can manage as she pulls it from the box and onto her lap. It shines brilliantly, and she can see her reflection in its green depths. Stroking one guitar string absently, Eleanor stares at it, wondering if he really does remember that moment in time so long ago, when she used to play so often. She remembers watching him in that field as she fiddled with the strings, not wanting to admit the immense pleasure she got from having him listening to her play with that small smile on his face, his eyes closed in rare tranquility.

Hot tears fill her eyes as she regards her Christmas present, and she has all but forgotten Sweeney watching her in the corner until she feels his hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. The contact is too much, and her tears spill over, sliding down her cheeks, and as embarrassed as she is, she can't stop them from falling. "Sweeney," she manages to whisper brokenly. "This is..." She stops, taking a deep breath, and his hand squeezes her shoulder.

"You don't have to keep it," he says quietly, sounding just as nervous about her gift as she had been about his. "I just remembered that you used to play and - "

She shakes her head, shooting him a pleased smile through her tears. "No, love. That's not it at all. I just..." She reaches up and takes his hand, moving it from her shoulder to kiss his fingers lovingly. "This is the best Christmas present I've ever gotten."

Carefully putting the guitar aside, Eleanor turns back to Sweeney, sniffling, to see him nearly blushing. It isn't a sight she sees everyday, and she is pleased that she was able to make him turn that adorable, pink color. Smiling softly, she tugs him back onto the bed with her, bringing his lips swiftly down on hers for a fierce kiss. He responds without hesitation, the shy little boy gone, replaced by the callous and smug man she loves so much. Lying back against the pillows as Sweeney hovers over her, his lips trailing a delicious line down her jaw and neck, Eleanor mentally retracts her earlier statement. _This _is the best Christmas gift she has ever gotten.

Much later, after dinner and just before midnight, Eleanor rests her head in the crook of Sweeney's arm, humming contentedly. She had been downright determined to make sure this Christmas would be different than the last one, which she'd spent completely alone, and she thinks that she has accomplished her goal handsomely. Tracing invisible patterns on his bare chest with her fingers, she says suddenly, "D'you know, in another month, it'll 'ave been exactly one year since you moved in with me?"

Sweeney makes a nondescript grunt in response, too relaxed to muster a reply any more coherent.

Used to his non-verbal communication, Eleanor continues, "It's weird, isn't it? 'Ow we spent all those years apart, and then suddenly decided to live together? Almost like the timin' was right, or somethin'..." She trails off thoughtfully, her fingers pausing in the middle of etching her name on his chest. "D'you think maybe it was fate?"

Sweeney almost says that he doesn't believe in Fate, but Eleanor believes in all that sentimental hogwash, and for some reason, he doesn't want to ruin that for her. So instead, he tightens his grip on her waist and drops a kiss into her hair. It is enough for her, and she smiles, closing her eyes.

Her silence, of course, doesn't last long. Just as Sweeney is drifting off, on that plane between waking and sleeping, Eleanor speaks again, whispering into the dark. "Speakin' of all those years we spent apart, what were you doin' all that time?"

He sighs. "Same as you. Traveling, mostly. Keeping a low profile." Of course, that isn't entirely true. He had traveled ten times more than Eleanor, he found he liked always waking up in a new city, a wanderlust to the extreme. So he had been surprised by how easy it had been to stop moving around, to settle in one place and live with Eleanor. How much he had truly felt at home the minute he moved in, and never wanted to leave.

"I know that," she persists. "I meant more specific, like."

"Well what were _you _doing?" He counters idly, still sounding half asleep.

"That's not fair," Eleanor pokes him. "I asked you first."

Sweeney raises his head from his pillow and says gruffly, "Why the bloody hell do you want to know all of a sudden?"

"S'not all of a sudden," she sniffs. "I've been wonderin', I'm only just now bringin' it to your attention, is all."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes because it will be fruitless if she cannot see him in the dark, Sweeney drops back to his pillow and says boredly, "I was everywhere, really. I stayed in Egypt for a while, did some excavations. Worked for the government after that."

Nellie frowns, tilting her head to look up at him. "The government? What, did you work for the FBI?" She snorts at this, shifting against him.

"MIB, actually," Sweeney reveals, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile at the reaction this will surely get out of her.

Her head shoots up instantly. "Men in black? You're bloody messin' with me."

"No Eleanor, I'm not messing with you," he sneers at her word choice.

"The mysterious men in black suits who threaten the people who know too much about UFOs into keeping quiet?" She asks, sounding incredulous and skeptical all at once. "The ones they made a movie about with Will Smith?"

"The very same," Sweeney admits tiredly, covering a yawn with his hand. "Now can we please go to sleep?"

Eleanor gapes at him. "You expect me to sleep after a confession like that? Are you barkin' mad?"

He frowns at this. "You know, I think I might be. This afternoon, when we arrived, I thought I saw Kurtis Russell on a snowboard."

Laughing, his odd confession forgotten for the time being, Eleanor sits up, pulling the sheet up to her chest. "You didn't imagine that, love. Saw 'im myself down at the lodge, talked to 'im for a while."

Sweeney bristles at this. "Were you going to mention this?"

"I just did," she says, brow furrowed.

He sighs. "If I hadn't mentioned it first, Eleanor."

She shrugs. " 'ardly seemed worth mentioning."

"It hardly seemed worth mentioning that you spent half an hour with another man earlier today?" He questions irritably.

"Oh don't be so dramatic," Eleanor snaps. "I may 'ave been gone 'alf an hour, but I only talked to Kurtis for a moment. 'E said 'e wants you to snowboard with 'im tomorrow."

Sweeney stares at her in the dark in disbelief. "Did you say yes?"

She winces. "I didn't say _no_..."

"Bullocks," Sweeney groans, turning over to bury his face in his pillow mournfully.

Eleanor places a tentative hand on his back. "Oh come on, love," she says. "You don't 'ave to. Kurtis might even forget all about it."

"Eleanor," Sweeney's voice is muffled by his pillow. "You know very well that he'll be here knocking on the bloody door at dawn. I cannot handle him in class _and _on vacation. I won't do it."

Smiling at his petulance, Nellie rubs soothing circles on his back. "It won't be so bad, dear. Maybe 'e'll give you a snowboarding lesson. That could be fun..." She stifles a giggle at the way he stiffens under her touch at this, and leans down, pressing her lips to the expanse of smooth skin between his shoulder blades.

This Christmas is proving to be very different from the last, indeed.

_--_

_Come next year we all will be together if the Fates allow, so have yourself a merry little Christmas now..._

To say that Urd had been irritated by Todd's reaction to the appearance of Kurtis Russell, or lack thereof, would be the understatement of the millennia. He was supposed to be angry about Lovett spending time with Russell, not about having to snowboard! Granted, Kurtis was supposed to invite only Nellie to go snowboarding, giving Sweeney a reason to go into a jealous rage and proclaim his feelings.

"Men!" Urd stamps her foot childishly. "They can't do anything right." Squaring her shoulders, she turns to look at her sisters, determination in her eyes. "Well, I hope you both know what this means."

Verdandi cringes visibly. "Come now, sister. Can't we talk this out rationally? We don't want to be hasty concerning the matters of mortals!"

Urd shakes her head firmly. "It is time I took matters into my own hands. They've had two centuries to work it out on their own, it's my turn."

As Skuld and Verdandi know, once Urd has made up her mind, there is no changing it.

And so, the three sisters gather around a cauldron, watching it bubble and hiss under their attentions. Verdandi stirs the strange substance inside reluctantly, still not in agreement with her sister, but willing to go along with her newest scheme.

Standing off to the side, Skuld recites the ingredients from an ancient manuscript, and Urd scampers about gathering everything her sister lists. "Eye of newt, and toe of frog. Wool of bat and tongue of dog..."

It is not often that the Wyrd sisters indulge in potions, but this is a special occasion.

"Don't forget to cool it with baboon's blood," Skuld reminds her sister, and Verdandi nods absently, wincing as their concoction spits up at her, marring her robes with several dark spots. Her look of disgust is priceless, and Skuld can barely hold back a snigger.

Putting the last of the ingredients into the cauldron, Urd cackles softly to herself and pulls a jagged dagger from her robes. Pressing the tip to one thumb, and then the other, she holds them both over the boiling potion and watches as several droplets of blood drip into the pot.

Smiling a secret smile, Urd watches her creation simmer and sizzle, murmuring delightedly, "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

* * *

A/N-So this time, I have no excuse for my lateness in updating besides pure laziness. Haha Hopefully you all will be able to show your forgiveness with reviews:D The last scene between the Fates was sort of reminiscent of Macbeth, if any of you were wondering why it seemed familiar. I even used a couple of lines from the play. The scene fit too perfectly with Passing Strange for me to ignore. Haha The quote is from the song Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, which hopefully, most of you already knew. Thanks so much for all of your amazing reviews, and for your patience. Loving you all to pieces!

Bloody Pumpkinhead-Aw, skipping lunch to review. Now I definitely feel loved, and I'm also loving your dedication.Haha I'm glad I could explain Sweeney's stubbornness for you, he's a complicated man, but I did my best:D I think Eleanor would be a great mother too, I hope I conveyed that well enough in her interaction with Gillian. And yes, I'm totally thinking that the book was Urd's doing. She's a sneaky old broad.LOL I'm glad you liked the chapter enough to re-read, that's pretty fabulous of you. Thanks for reviewing dearest!

Julia Lin-I hope I'm not interfering too much with your schoolwork, I'd hate to think I'm hindering your education:D Thanks so much for the review!


	21. Fate Always Wins

Passing Strange

_If you don't control your mind someone else will..._

Her eyes fly open as if from some horrible nightmare, and she sits straight up in bed, breathing heavily. Disoriented for a moment before realizing where she is, the woman glances around curiously before spotting the man lying next to her, still fast asleep and oblivious to her rude awakening. Silent as the grave, she slips from bed and pads softly to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Practically running to the sink, she skids to a stop in front of the mirror, peering into it eagerly.

"Hmm..." She breathes, looking satisfied with what she sees and laying a slim hand to her rosy cheek. "Not bad. What do you think? Convincing?"

Anyone listening in would think this woman to be a complete nutcase, but in fact, this woman is quite sane, and she isn't talking to herself. Not really.

A very familiar voice inside her head answers her question critically. "You _look _convincing enough. However, I believe I'll wait and see your acting skills before I pass judgment."

The woman scowls into the mirror, wrinkling her forehead. "Oh hush, you're just jealous because you didn't get to come to earth too."

"At least I don't have bedhead," the voice answers back snippily.

Reaching up, she smooths down short blonde hair, tucking it primly behind her ears. "There Skuld, you happy?"

"Ecstatic," comes the dry response.

Ignoring her sister, the woman returns her attention to her reflection, stepping back to admire her new figure and smoothing a hand down her backside. "I look good," she says approvingly. Moving a hand to tug at the neck of her pajama shirt, she glances at her chest with glee. "Very good. Although, being inside someone else's head is going to take some getting used to. It's been centuries, after all."

"Just act natural," comes another voice, much softer and tentative. "And try not to get distracted. You're here for a purpose, not to play."

Frowning, Urd lifts her eyes up to her face, but instead of what she usually sees when she glances in a mirror, she is met with the sight of the perky blonde who had befriended Eleanor Lovett. "No, Verdandi, I think I'll go make a snowman and then head back. Todd and Lovett can figure this out all on their own." She rolls her eyes, blue now, instead of green. "Give me a little credit, would you?"

As her sisters begin to mumble about the power going to her head, Urd looks over herself one more time, giving a satisfactory nod and squaring her shoulders before heading out to put on a show, all in the name of Fate.

_--_

Christmas morning arrives all too quickly for Sweeney and Eleanor, and both are reluctant to leave their warm cocoon of blankets to go downstairs and listen to Carol make her way through every Christmas song known to man.

Yawning into her pillow, Nellie stretches lazily. "I can't believe she 'asn't been up to get us yet," she muses, wondering what occupies Carol enough to keep her from pulling them out of bed.

"Be quiet you'll jinx it, woman," Sweeney grumbles, eyes still closed. "Don't question good fortune."

Eleanor rolls her eyes, sliding closer to him beneath the covers and pressing her lips to his bare forearm. "Merry Christmas, love."

He raises his head briefly from his pillow, long enough to plant a good morning kiss on her lips, before dropping back down with a content sigh. "Happy New Year," he says dryly in return.

Punching him on the arm, Eleanor turns from him, slipping from bed to let her bare feet hit the cold, hardwood floors. Wrapping her arms around herself, she steps to the window, pulling back the curtains to peer outside. White flecks of snow drift from the overcast sky, resting heavily on the already sagging tree branches. The cars in the driveway are covered already; it looks like Winter Wonderland come to life. Resisting the urge to crawl back into bed, Eleanor abandons her spot at the window and makes her way to the closet to find something to wear.

"You best be gettin' up, love," Eleanor calls from inside the closet, head buried beneath a pile of coats as she searches for her snow boots. "Want to be ready when Kurtis comes by, don't ya?" A sleepy groan of protest mingled with annoyance reaches her ears, and Eleanor grins to herself. "Louie!" She calls.

The basset hound, lying unhappily at the foot of the bed, raises its head to look at her.

"Wake Mr. Todd up, love," she encourages in her best baby voice. "Go get 'im!"

Louie gets to his feet lazily, glances around, sniffing curiously.

Eleanor huffs impatiently. "Louie, get Sweeney."

This time, the hound seems to understand, and tail wagging excitedly, he jumps with some effort, onto the chair next to the bed, and from the chair, hops onto the mattress. Pawing his way through blankets and sheets, Louie presses his wet nose to Sweeney's forehead, and then licks his dark hair enthusiastically.

Sweeney jumps up in alarm, having been woken up rather rudely by a strange wet sensation and the sound of Eleanor's laughter. Sitting up in bed, he glances down sleepily to find the dog staring up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Eleanor lying on the floor, clutching her stomach and giggling uncontrollably at the look of outrage on his face.

"Wench," he mutters, grumbling to himself as he slides out of bed and heads for the shower, all the while wiping at the moisture on his forehead. He casts one last dark look at the drooling dog on the bed before shutting the door behind him. When he has finished his shower, still sulking a little, Sweeney emerges from the bathroom with his hair dripping all over the floor to find Eleanor fully dressed on the edge of the bed and painting her nails a deep red.

Coming up behind her, Sweeney wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his bare chest. She settles into him, not seeming to care that he is still damp. "Don't like it when you shower without me," she complains, tilting her face up to regard his.

Ignoring her pout, Sweeney drops a hand to her thigh, running his fingers over the material of her black pants. "Sorry, pet," he says, watching her blow on her nails to get them to dry faster. "I actually wanted to get clean this time." She flashes him a wicked grin over her shoulder, and he stands up, moving away in an effort to distance himself from his temptress. "Hurry up and finish with that. I want to get down to the lodge for coffee before that idiot student of mine makes it there."

_--_

The lodge down the hill is fairly empty, considering it is Christmas morning and most people are still in their pajamas and opening presents. Eleanor is still feeling half asleep when she finally gets her coffee, and she takes a long sip gratefully, not even wincing when the hot liquid scalds her tongue.

Making it to an empty table near a window, Eleanor sits across from Sweeney, watching as he nurses his own caffeine fix, immersed in an old newspaper someone had left at their table.

Suddenly, a girlish squeak very close to her jolts Nellie from her sleep-induced fog, and she jumps, turning to see what all the fuss is about. Standing next to their table is a young girl, maybe sixteen, staring at them with something resembling awe. Sweeney glances up from his paper to regard her with an annoyed look.

"Omigosh," the girl squeals. "It's Helena and Tim!" She holds up her cup of coffee, looking teary eyed. "Will you sign my coffee cup? The name's Mandy."

Eleanor can only stare at her for a moment, before finally realizing that the girl has mistaken them for another couple. "Sorry, love," she smiles at her kindly, trying to form words in her shock. "You've got the wrong people. Just lookalikes, I'm afraid."

The girl blushes, drawing her coat tighter around her and gripping her cup to her chest. "Oh gosh," she laughs nervously. "I'm so sorry. You look just like her, and your husband - "

"Quite alright dearie," Eleanor interrupts quickly, casting a sidelong glance at Sweeney to see if the word 'husband' had sent him into convulsions. He looks relatively unfazed, to her relief. "Just a lil' mistake is all."

"Well it was nice meeting you anyway," Mandy smiles. "And again, I'm really sorry." She hurries off, cheeks still bright red from her mistake.

Eleanor watches her go sympathetically, and it's quiet for a couple of seconds before she hears Sweeney say worriedly, "Did she call me Tim?"

"Yeah," she faces him again with an apologetic nod.

Sweeney touches his hair self-consciously. "My hair doesn't look like - "

"Of course not love," Eleanor reaches across the table and pats his arm reassuringly. "Your 'air is much fuller an' neater than 'is." She smiles. "Don't 'ave those funny lookin' glasses neither."

The two finally make it back to the cabin a few minutes later, and upon walking through the front door, the smell of eggs and bacon comes wafting through the house from the kitchen. They enter the room hand in hand to find Tom standing over the stove, sliding bacon onto a plate.

"Merry Christmas Tommy-boy," Eleanor smiles, taking up her plate and leaning in to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"To you too, Ellie May," he laughs, handing Sweeney his plate.

They take their seats at the dining room table, eating in companionable silence for a few minutes while Eleanor tries to sneak Louie pieces of bacon under the table without anyone noticing. "Where's your wife this mornin'?" She asks, sipping her orange juice. "Didn't she say last night that she was goin' to get us all up at the crack of dawn?"

Tom frowns, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. "Actually, I haven't even seen her this morning. She was in the bathroom when I got up, and she hasn't come downstairs yet." He reclines in his chair leisurely. "It's been...very tranquil this morning."

Nellie smirks at this, but before she can reply, Carol comes bounding into the room with a sunny smile, dressed in jeans and a red sweater. "Good morning you wonderful people," she sighs, dropping into her seat next to Tom.

The three other people sitting at the table exchange amused glances. "You're up awful late today, love," Eleanor says, hand darting under the table with a strip of bacon.

Sweeney catches the movement and gives her a look. "No wonder he's so bloody fat, you stuff him with your leftovers!"

" 'E likes bacon," Eleanor insists with a frown. " 'Sides, not like 'e ain't fat to begin with. I'm just keepin' the meat on 'is bones, is all."

"You're contributing to his obesity," Sweeney counters. "And any veterinary visits relating to your indulgence is not coming out of my pocket."

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Like I can't bloody pay for it myself. Y'know, I did know 'ow to take care of myself before you came along, love."

"God only knows how," he mumbles to himself, turning back to his plate.

Sticking out her tongue at him, Eleanor picks up her glass of orange juice, finally taking notice of the way Carol is looking at both of them, beaming. "Are you alright, love?" She asks, brow furrowed.

Carol nods vigorously. "Yeah, you're both just so...adorable together. I did good."

Eleanor quirks an eyebrow at her last statement, but chooses to ignore it in favor of her first. "Adorable? Last night you said we disgusted you, and kindly asked us to get a room."

"I was mistaken. You're so cute, I could just eat you both up." She pops a piece of bacon into her mouth and her eyes widen in surprise. Mumbling around a mouthful of food, she says, "Woah, this is really good. Did you make this?" She looks at Tom, and he nods. "Hmm...now I know why I married you."

Exchanging an odd look with Tom over Carol's peculiar behavior, Eleanor pushes her plate away and stands up. "I think I need a cigarette." She squeezes Sweeney's shoulder as she passes by, picking up her pack of cigarettes from the counter on her way out the back door.

Tom shakes his head as Louie comes around to his side of the table and whines, holding out a paw as if willing to do a trick in exchange for food. "No way," he says, looking down at the dog. "I'm hungry." Louie sneezes on his pant leg and ambles over to Carol instead. Tom nods his head in the direction Eleanor had gone. "She really should quit smoking, she's going to kill herself with those things. You'd think being a doctor, she'd be wary of the health risks."

Sweeney tries not to laugh at this, covering his smirk with a mouthful of coffee, and manages to nod in concern.

Carol bends down to Louie, feeding him something out the palm of her hand and muttering about how she owes him one for being her baby step. She straightens when her palm is empty, turning to Sweeney with a smile, watching him closely. For some reason, he is more ill at ease under her stare today than ever before. It isn't the dreamy sort of glaze she usually has when she looks at him, but something altogether different, that he can't quite put his finger on. He doesn't get a chance to contemplate it before Eleanor comes stomping back through the door, shaking snow out of her curls.

"Bloody 'ell," she says, shivering. "It's freezin' out there."

Sweeney raises his eyebrows at her. "Thank you, my dear. The snow hadn't tipped us off to that particular fact."

She shoots him a withering glare. "Bugger off."

"Merry Christmas to you too," he says, on the verge of laughing at her when the doorbell rings. His eyes widen immediately. "Don't answer that."

A perfectly malicious grin spreads across Eleanor's face. "I wonder who that could be, eh? Couldn't be Kurtis Russell you're tryin' to avoid, is it?"

Sweeney stands up, holding out his hands in a sign of peace. "Eleanor, don't do anything rash."

"Kurtis Russell?" Carol pipes up, looking pleased. She dips another handful of sunflower seeds out of the bag on the table. "These are delicious, by the way. What are they?"

"Sunflower seeds," Nellie says slowly, as though talking to a small child.

"Carol, honey," Tom looks at her strangely. "You hate sunflower seeds."

Carol regards him oddly, popping a handful into her mouth. "Well that's just silly. How can anyone hate these delectable seeds of yumminess?"

Tom and Eleanor trade worried glances as the doorbell rings again.

Jumping to her feet, Carol darts out of the kitchen and down the hall, scattering sunflower seeds in her wake. "I'll get it!"

"No!" Sweeney shouts after her. They hear the front door swing open, followed by the voice of Kurtis himself. Sweeney groans softly, dropping down onto a stool at the bar and banging his head against the counter. "Bollocks."

Eleanor giggles, wandering up to him and patting his shoulder. "Sorry, love."

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and seconds later, Carol is ushering Kurtis into the kitchen. "There's plenty of food left if you're hungry," she says, pushing him into a chair at the table. "Help yourself."

"Actually," Kurtis says, filching a link of sausage from Sweeney's half-finished plate. "I'm just here to challenge Professor Todd to a snowboarding competition." He grins, taking a bite of sausage. "You up for it?"

Sweeney stares, torn between annoyance at Kurtis for eating his food, and annoyance at Kurtis for existing. "I don't think I - "

"Of course he will," Carol interrupts good naturedly. "But first, why don't you take Lovett out - "

"What did you call me?" Eleanor asks, looking perplexed.

For some reason, Carol blushes. "I mean...Ellie. Why don't you take _Ellie _out and teach her a few moves? She's done nothing but talk about how fun it looks."

"Sure," Kurtis turns in his seat to look at her. "If you want me to, I can teach you a couple of things. I'll have you going down Dead Man's Hill before the end of the day."

Eleanor laughs. "I don't think so, love. You'll be lucky if you get me on that thing at all."

Kurtis grins at her, raising his eyebrows challengingly. "My board is outside. Let's roll, pretty lady."

As Kurtis grabs another piece of sausage from Sweeney's plate before heading back down the hall, Eleanor turns to Sweeney. "You go get your gear on love, and we'll meet you outside. Oh, and grab my scarf on your way out." She leans up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before skipping off down the hall after Kurtis.

As the front door shuts behind her, Sweeney slides from his stool, grumbling to himself. The boy is once again butting in on his personal life, and the thought of him out there 'teaching' Eleanor is not comforting in the slightest. Hurrying up the steps to get ready and break up their little party, Sweeney is too distracted to notice Carol's triumphant smile.

Once outside, holding Eleanor's colorful wool scarf in his hands, Sweeney finds the two in the middle of the front yard, with Eleanor standing on Kurtis' snowboard. The little punk has his hands on her waist, trying to show her which way to move, and Sweeney doesn't notice that he is wringing the scarf in his hands until Carol comes up from behind him and tugs at it.

"Don't hurt the scarf, Sweeney," she says, sounding amused. "It never did anything to you." Looking down and seeing his white-knuckled grip, Sweeney relinquishes his hold on it, letting Carol take it. They stand in silence for a few minutes, watching Kurtis and Eleanor interact with one another.

He stands behind her, moving his hands from her waist to her outstretched arms, sliding them slowly from her elbows to her hands and lacing his fingers through hers. Using his grip on her hands to show her when to lean to the side or forward, Kurtis is way too close for Sweeney's comfort, his chest pressed against her back. Eleanor furrows her brow, looking confused, and tilts her head back to look at Kurtis as she talks to him. Kurtis says something in her ear with a sly grin that causes Eleanor to gasp and turn around, shoving his chest, and nearly knocking him off balance.

Laughing hysterically, Kurtis doubles over, hands on his knees, while Eleanor glares down at him with a half-smile on her lips, shaking her head. When Kurtis finally straightens up, he takes Eleanor by the shoulders and directs her back onto the board, smiling at her. Sweeney doesn't care for the look in the boy's eyes. Eleanor steps back onto the board and holds out her hand impatiently, beckoning Kurtis back over to her.

"They're being pretty friendly," Carol says suggestively, elbowing Sweeney gently in the side.

Sweeney tears his eyes from the scene in front of him long enough to glance at her. "Are you trying to imply something?"

Carol shrugs nonchalantly. "Nope. Just saying."

Silence reigns for another several seconds before Carol speaks again, unable to contain herself.

"I just mean, if Tom were to act like that with another woman, I'd - "

"I trust her," Sweeney says through gritted teeth, never taking his eyes from Eleanor, where she stands on Kurtis' snowboard, knees bent and leaning forward, with Kurtis' hand on the small of her back.

"Yeah," Carol says skeptically. "That's why you're watching her like a hawk."

Sweeney frowns, looking down at her in annoyance. "Don't you have something you need to be doing?"

Carol shakes her head. "No. And it's not like I can blame you for being suspicious. Eleanor is a beautiful woman, it's only natural that other men are going to look at her like that."

"Like what?" He asks warily, as if he really doesn't want to know but can't stop himself from asking anyway.

"Oh, you know," Carol says breezily. "Like she's sex on a stick." With that said, Carol directs a sweet smile in his direction and hands the scarf to Sweeney, who looks rather dazed, before flouncing back into the house to look for Tom.

As Carol's words reverberate in his head disconcertingly, Sweeney grips Eleanor's scarf tightly in his fist, picks up his snowboard and makes his way over to them. The two are in the middle of laughing at something Eleanor had just said when Sweeney drops his board at their feet and tosses Eleanor her scarf.

She catches it deftly. "Love, 'e was just teaching me a," she stops, looking bemused. "A '_Soup_', was it?"

Kurtis nods. "Soup." He turns to Sweeney to explain, not seeming to notice the look of disdain on his professor's face. "It's where you do an Ollie, and then you land on the nose of the board - "

"I know what it is," Sweeney interrupts tersely. "I have done this before."

"Right," Kurtis shoots him an apologetic smile. "Anyway, it's an awesome beginner trick."

"Beginner trick?" Eleanor looks put out. "Lord, I can't even master a beginner's trick."

He laughs. "No, you're doing great, trust me. Try it again, then we'll take it to the slopes and get you some air."

"Actually, Mr. Russell," Sweeney says brusquely, not even close to caring that he'd interrupted Eleanor's lesson. "I believe you challenged me to a competition?"

Kurtis nods, turning his attention from Eleanor to flash Sweeney a skeptical smirk. "I did, but those are some pretty killer jumps. You sure you can handle it, old man?"

Eleanor laughs, wrapping her scarf snugly around her neck. "I believe you just signed your own death warrant, boy." If he hadn't been so distracted by thoughts of burying Kurtis in the snow in some remote location on the slopes, Sweeney might have taken the time to admire how becoming she looked, her cheeks rosy from the cold. "Don't 'urt the lad, dear."

A devilish smirk makes its way across Sweeney Todd's face, and Eleanor looks slightly alarmed. "No promises, pet."

She stands in the middle of the yard and watches the two walk off down the hill, carrying their boards under their arms, before heading back into the warmth of the house. As she stands in the foyer, pulling off her snow boots, Eleanor thinks about how odd Sweeney's behavior had been. Last night he had been utterly inconsolable at the prospect of spending time snowboarding with Kurtis, and this morning Sweeney had been ready to hide from him in order to get out of it, but then, during her lesson, he was gung-ho and ready to head out. It just didn't make sense to her. Even Sweeney Todd's moods didn't change _that _frequently.

Still puzzling over this, Eleanor pads into the kitchen in the hopes of finding a friendly face, and is rewarded with Carol just flipping through a catalogue, looking thoroughly engrossed. Slumping down into a chair at the table, Eleanor puts her elbows on the table top and her chin in her palms.

"My intuition tells me you're troubled," Carol says, watching Eleanor stare glumly at the fruit bowl centerpiece.

Nellie shrugs. "It's nothin'. Just Sweeney bein' 'is usual confusin' self." She shakes her head. "The man is an enigma surrounded by a riddle an' wrapped in a mystery."

Carol snorts at this, and then puts a hand over her mouth, as if surprised to hear such a thing come from herself. "He's a man," she continues, still frowning. "His thoughts consist of beer, sex, and video games."

Eleanor grabs an apple from the centerpiece, tossing it from hand to hand effortlessly. "If only that stereotype applied to 'im. My life would be much simpler."

Hopping up onto the counter, still popping sunflower seeds into her mouth, Carol sighs, letting her dangling legs swing back and forth rhythmically. "You like that he's complicated, and you know it. You'd have a hard time loving him if he wasn't."

Eleanor looks at her sharply, the apple falling from her hands and dropping to the table with a resounding thud. "What are you - "

Carol rolls her eyes. "We've had this conversation already, and I believe we established that you love that hunk of a man, whether you want to admit it or not." She wriggles her eyebrows playfully. "You ready to admit it now?"

Bristling slightly, Eleanor turns back to the apple, scooping it up and dropping it back into the bowl. "I don't know what you're talkin' about," she says airily, avoiding the blonde's all-knowing gaze.

"Well he obviously adores you," Carol continues, seemingly oblivious to Nellie's reluctance to talk about it. "I mean, when I was out there, watching you and Kurtis with him, he wouldn't take his eyes off of you. I think he was jealous, isn't that cute?"

Realization hitting her like a ton of bricks, Eleanor slowly turns to look at her friend. "That actually explains quite a bit concernin' 'is behavior this mornin'."

Carol squints at her warily. "I don't like that look. What are you thinking?"

Jaw clenched in irritation for the man she shares a bed with, Eleanor only says, "I'm thinkin' that Sweeney and I need to 'ave a little chat about this newfangled thing called trust."

Coming up behind her, Carol takes a seat at the table next to Nellie, and scoots her chair as close as humanly possible to the other woman. Putting an arm around Eleanor's shoulders, Carol hugs her tightly. "I just want you to know," she says tearfully into her hair. "That you're my favorite human, and I'm so proud of you."

Eleanor pats her back awkwardly, brow knit in confusion. "Um, thanks, love."

As they wait for Sweeney and Kurtis to get back from their snowboarding venture, Eleanor becomes increasingly aware of Carol's strange actions, from eating sunflower seeds that she usually hates, to playing with the blender like she has never seen one before. "Are you feelin' alright today?" She finally asks when Carol accidentally hits a button on the microwave, and then jumps back as if it is going to bite her.

She smiles, and it is a grin Nellie has seen often in their friendship, but today, there is something off about it. "Yeah, great. Why?"

She shrugs, hearing the front door open and shut, knowing Sweeney and Kurtis are back. "No reason." She reaches out and squeezes Carol's arm affectionately, deciding to put aside her worries for later.

Stomping comes from the hallway, and Eleanor can only wince at the thought of all the snow those two are probably tracking in. Sweeney comes through the kitchen first, unzipping his jacket and looking quite satisfied with himself. Kurtis trails after him, and Eleanor has to bite back a laugh when she sees all the snow plastered to one side of his head, and all down the front of his suit.

"Don't ask," Kurtis holds up a hand, defeated. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but he kicked my ass."

Tom, hearing their arrival from the study down hall, enters the kitchen with a grin. "Sweet," he says, punching Sweeney on the arm, much to the other man's annoyance. "We've got to go out again later, I want to see the man of the hour in action."

Eleanor rolls her eyes, unable to muster up enough enthusiasm to stand up and congratulate Sweeney on his victory. She knows he is going to gloat about this to his class for the rest of the semester, and while the thought amuses her, she can't get her conversation with Carol out of her head. So that was why he'd interrupted her lesson with Kurtis? He was jealous? It's like he doesn't trust her at all, and this irks her more than she cares to admit.

Kurtis laughs, standing over the sink and shaking the snow out of his hair. "Sure dude, we can all go out again. But first, I think I owe Doctor Lovett a snowboarding lesson."

The words shake Nellie from her reverie, and she looks up to see Sweeney appearing less than pleased, standing stiffly in the corner. She can see how tightly his jaw is clenched even from across the room, but she manages to smile at Kurtis, nodding. "Sure, just me go upstairs and grab a coat. I'll try not to upstage you in front of your friends, eh?"

He snorts at this. "Don't be talking smack to me, Lovett. You're going _down_."

Eleanor is halfway up the stairs when she gets the sense that she is being followed, but she ignores it until she reaches the doorway to the bedroom. Whirling around in the doorframe, Eleanor comes face to face with Sweeney, and she glares up at him. "You want somethin', love?"

Sweeney looks surprised by the irritation in her voice, but he doesn't back down. He nods, ushering her into their bedroom and shutting the door behind them. She watches as he ignores her in favor of removing his shirt, and her mind is filled with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts until she sees he is looking for another one to put on in its place. "What are you doin'?" She asks suspiciously.

He gives her a look as he holds up a shirt to inspect. "Making pancakes, Eleanor. I'm changing, what does it look like, woman?"

Ignoring his less -than-friendly response, Eleanor leans casually against the bedpost. "Right, makes sense. Soaked from the snow, no doubt." She nods, almost to herself, watching him carefully. "Goin' to change and go 'ang out with Tom for a while? Play some video games or take Louie for a walk, maybe?"

"Not exactly," he says after a moment of hesitation.

"And what does 'not exactly' mean?" She asks, already knowing the answer.

Sweeney sighs, turning to look at her. "It means I'm going with you and Kurtis, if you're so intent on dragging it out of me."

"Going with me and Kurtis?" She asks, trying to sound surprised and only barely succeeding. "And why is that?"

"Just want to watch," he shrugs, turning from her again to rummage through another set of drawers, obviously determined to find a certain shirt.

Nellie is unconvinced, and folds her arms across her chest. "Really? You want to watch Kurtis teach me how to do a bloody Ollie on top of a hill in the freezin' cold? You're actually interested in that?"

He nods slowly. "You might fall, it could be funny."

"Wouldn't you rather stay 'ere and 'elp Tom eat all those Christmas cookies Carol made last night?" She asks, moving to perch on the edge of the bed. "And then when I get back, you and I can go do somethin' together." Pausing thoughtfully, she says in her best suggestive voice, "There's a jacuzzi around back. We could...make use of it later. Why don't you stay 'ere and get everythin' ready? Champagne and all that? I won't be gone long."

"Hmm," he says distractedly, sounding as if he's barely paying attention to her. "Not really one for jacuzzis. I think I'll just go with you and the boy."

She doesn't miss the way he says 'boy' with the utmost contempt. Watching him through narrowed eyes, Eleanor sighs. "Why can't you just be straight forward about it and tell me the truth? What 'appened to bein' honest? Wasn't that one of our rules, love?"

She sounds disappointed to Sweeney's ears, and he furrows his brow, pausing in the middle of perusing his dresser drawers. "I'm not sure I follow you."

Turning away as he pulls his long sleeved shirt over his head and tosses it to the side, Eleanor crosses to the window, pulling back the curtain and staring out into the snow-covered yard. "Earlier, I couldn't 'elp but wonder why you 'ad changed your mind so quickly about snowboardin'. You were ready to 'ide from Kurtis to avoid it this mornin', and then suddenly you interrupted my lesson, all impatient to get out there. I 'ad my suspicions then, but you just proved 'em to me."

"Oh really?" Sweeney asks dryly, still not taking her very seriously. "And what did I prove, pet?"

She turns to look at him, mouth set in a thin line. "That you don't trust me."

The shirt Sweeney is holding drops to the floor, and he stares at her, open-mouthed. "I trust you," he says defensively.

"Oh right," she scoffs. "That's why you're so eager to go trampin' out in the snow with us, because you _trust _me. I offered you time in the jacuzzi with champagne and me in a bloody bikini and you turned it down in favor of keepin' an eye on us! You won't leave me alone with 'im for one second if you can 'elp it!"

"Me?" Sweeney eyes her with incredulity. "I'm not the one so bloody anxious to be alone with the brat! Is there any other excuse you can come up with to keep me here so you two can go traipsing off into the woods together?"

Lips parted slightly in disbelief, Eleanor jumps from her perch on the bed, and has to reign in the urge to stamp her foot like a child. "What?! Are you _listenin_' to yourself? You're bloody mad!" She begins stalking angrily around the room, too indignant to stand still. "Yes, Sweeney, I'm goin' around behind your back with a man two 'undred years younger than I am, and who uses the word 'dude' in every other sentence! Yes, that's exactly my type, love! _Brilliant _deduction!"

"Well it's not that far of a leap when you want so badly to be alone with him, Eleanor," Sweeney snaps, watching her pace back and forth, fists clenched at her sides. "What the hell did you want me to think?"

"I wanted you to think that you could trust me to be alone with a man without feelin' the need to jump 'im!" Eleanor shrieks, and the volume of her voice is very close to sounding hysterical. Moving to the window, she looks out through sheer curtains, leaning against the window frame. Her voice is much softer as she says, "Do you really think so little of me?"

"I _do _trust you!" Sweeney insists huffily. "I don't trust _him_, the filthy lecherous pervert!"

Her eyes widen and she whirls around to face him. "Sweeney!"

He doesn't look even slightly perturbed, only more determined to get his point across. "He was looking at you like-like you were-"

"I don't care 'ow 'e was lookin' at me!" Eleanor puts a hand on her hip, and Sweeney notices that her whole body seems to radiate her fury. "What about me? You saw us out there, was I lookin' at 'im any differently? Did I look particularly infatuated with your bloody college student?!"

Ignoring her eminently practical logic, Sweeney changes tactics quickly. "Fine! Forget how he looked at you! What about his hands? Did you not _notice _where his sodding hands were, Eleanor?!"

She rolls her eyes heavenward, as though asking for patience. "For cripes sake, Sweeney! 'E was teachin' me to snowboard! It involves physical contact! Why are you bein' so bloody impossible?"

Frustrated in a way he hasn't been in years, and all thanks to this tiny doctor so intent on driving him mad, Sweeney isn't thinking clearly. He isn't thinking about a logical or snappy answer to her retort, he isn't even thinking about hitting Kurtis over the head with his snowboard. He is only thinking of how lovely she looks, and how her eyes seem to ignite from a fire within when she is angry. He is thinking about how much he loves that particular look, and how he wants to spend the rest of eternity provoking her to this state of mind. And so, he cannot be blamed for the rash words that leave his mouth at this moment, with her staring at him like that, cheeks flushed and chest heaving charmingly.

"Because I love you, damn it!" Sweeney shouts at her, sounding for all the world like a defeated man brought to his knees. "And I don't want him touching you like that!"

This stops Eleanor right where she stands, and she freezes, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell for fear that he will take it back again. He doesn't, only gives the floor his best murderous glare, panting as if he has run a marathon. Completely forgetting her irritation, she asks in a voice no louder than a whisper, "You-you what?" She realizes her eyes must be comically wide, but she can't bring herself to care, staring at him with her mouth slightly agape.

"I love you," he snaps again, dragging his eyes up to hers and holding her steady gaze.

"You-you do?" She manages, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

He sighs, and snarls grumpily, "Of course I do, I love every bloody thing about you, you little harpy! There, are you happy?!"

It finally dawns on her that he isn't going to take it back, that the words are here to stay. It hadn't been the scenario she'd had in mind when she'd pictured him confessing these long awaited words, but she supposes he wouldn't be Sweeney Todd if he didn't shout declarations of love in the heat of an argument. She stares at him, face pinched in a way that suggests she is just seconds from crying, but instead, a soft giggle escapes her lips. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she struggles to keep from bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation, knowing Sweeney would take it as her laughing at his confession, which is far from the truth. Taking her hand away from her mouth, she says, "Well that wasn't exactly the romantic candlelit dinner I imagined." She beams at him. "But I'll take it."

He looks disgruntled at this, opening his mouth in what is no doubt some sort of snappy retort, but she cuts him off.

"It's about bloody time you said it, ya ruddy bastard!" She crosses the short distance between them in two quick steps, launching herself into his arms. He catches her, blinking in surprise as his arms automatically wrap around her waist. "You mean it?" She breathes, her arms coming up to rest around his neck.

"Yes, yes," he grumbles, shifting uncomfortably. "It's not a big deal, don't get excited, woman."

She smiles into his neck, breathing him in. "It took you two hundred years to say three bleedin' words, and I'm not s'pposed to get excited when you finally spit it out?" Eleanor pulls back slightly to cup his cheek in her palm, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I love you too, you stubborn git."

A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. "Well," he says haughtily. "That much is obvious with the way you just threw yourself at me, Eleanor."

She chokes on a laugh, shoving him half-heartedly. "You're infuriatin'," she says softly, resting her head on his bare chest. "Why do I like you?"

"Love," he corrects smugly. "And I haven't the faintest idea. I believe you're a glutton for punishment, my dear."

Tilting her face up to look at him, Eleanor smiles. "Maybe. But you're not bad as far as punishments go, y'know."

He nods, only half paying attention now, his eyes focused on her lips. "Good to know." His finger traces her bottom lip gently, and her eyes grow heavy at his touch. His lips drift lightly over her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, before finally meeting hers in a soft, sensual kiss that makes her want to melt into him and forget anyone else has ever existed, or ever will.

Standing on her tiptoes to be closer to him, Eleanor locks her arms around his neck and opens her mouth voraciously against his. As Sweeney's grip around her waist tightens and he picks her up to carry her to the bed, Eleanor wonders if his kisses will always make her so weak in the knees, as cliché as it sounds. She knows the answer is yes before her back even hits the mattress.

Sweeney hovers over her, his lips warm and insistent on her neck and his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt. Eleanor shivers, bringing her fingers up to run through his hair, head tilted back and eyes closed in perfect bliss. "I love you," she breathes into his ear. It feels good to finally be able to say it after all this time keeping it to herself, and while she doesn't expect any sort of response from her beloved, she is happy in the knowledge that he feels the same way.

_--_

_The wheel is come full circle..._

Time is an ever rotating wheel, it never stops, not for anyone. Except Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett. For them, time paused for over a century, waiting for them to catch up...

When the words are said, Skuld and Verdandi look at each other, faces blank for a few seconds before they both break into huge grins, and taking each others hands, they begin to bounce up and down excitedly, squealing like teenage girls at a rock concert.

"They said it! They said it!" They chant together, as though singing along to the chorus of an 80's rock ballad.

This is their moment. The moment they have been waiting for since they reversed time for Todd and Lovett nearly two hundred years ago, the moment where everything has fallen into place. Their project for the last century and a half has finally come to a close. If such a thing really existed, the heavenly choir of angels would be rejoicing in their ears at this very moment.

In the midst of their gleeful celebrating, Urd appears once again, popping onto the scene out of thin air, straightening her robes. She is smiling in a self-satisfied manner, and she waves a hand, conjuring the image of Carol back on earth. Her sisters gather around her, still grinning, and they watch together as Carol blinks several times, finally coming back to herself. They giggle like schoolchildren when she grimaces at the taste of sunflower seeds in her mouth, running to the garbage can to spit them out. "Tom!" She calls out. "Why am I eating sunflower seeds?"

Cackling, Urd waves the image away. "So tell me," she asks, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "What is it like having such a genius for a sister?"

Skuld sighs happily, linking arms with her sister. "Positively exquisite."

"I can't believe we did it," Verdandi says, sounding dazed. "It feels like a dream. Someone pinch me."

Skuld reaches out a pinches her arm.

"Ow!" Verdandi complains, cradling her wounded arm to her chest. "I didn't mean it!"

Skuld shrugs uninterestedly, still too happy to start an argument. "Are you disappointed?" She asks Urd. "I know you planned on spending more than a day on earth."

Shaking her head, Urd waves her hand again, showing them the image of Todd and Lovett sleeping on a sofa by the fireplace in their room, with Louie at their feet. "It is impossible to be disappointed that those two didn't need much coaxing."

"True," Skuld concedes with a smile.

"Well," Urd says, examining her reflection in a mirror, bemoaning the loss of youthful skin. Being in Carol's body had been much more fun, she'll have to consider doing it more often. "I suppose we should restore their mortality now."

The three sisters glance at each other uneasily.

"Verdandi," Skuld glances at her. "Go ahead."

Verdandi, spinner of the thread of life, hesitates. "Is it wrong that I...that I don't want to give their mortality back to them?"

Skuld crosses to her sister's side, laying a consoling hand on her back. "It's only natural to want them to remain young and healthy. Do you think I enjoy cutting those threads and ending a person's life?" She shakes her head. "But everyone has to die sister, it's the price of being human. They get to live their lives with an intensity that no other being in this universe can. That intensity comes from knowing they could die at any moment, it makes them take risks, live in the moment. It's a tradeoff."

Verdandi nods silently and Skuld bites her lip. Neither of them show any sign of getting up to move to the loom of Fate in order to restore the world to its rightful order.

Urd sighs, coming down off of her high long enough to sympathize with her sisters. "We all know that dying is hardly the end of the road. Actually, death is only the beginning, another adventure to embark upon in another world. And with all of that magic coursing through their veins from immortality, they'll still age slowly. If it was the 1700's, people would be whispering about witchcraft!"

A dreamy expression clouds Skuld's eyes. "Lovett would have made a remarkable witch."

Verdandi gives her a look. "Don't get any ideas."

"I wasn't," Skuld says defensively. Urd's speech has helped though, and she looks determined now. "It's not like their time on earth is anywhere near over. They have a lot of life left to live."

Looking between her two sisters quizzically, Verdandi asks, "What will they do now?"

Urd smiles. "Why, they'll just keep living it."

* * *

A/N-They finally said it! Can you believe it? It only took them 200 years, too.Haha Oh, and hopefully I made it clear enough that Urd sort of took over Carol's body for a while. The quote in italics the beginning is from John Allston, I thought it fit nicely;) And the other quote in italics is from Shakespeare's King Lear. This chapter is sort of a dedication/belated birthday present for Robynne(Phantomfr33k24601), who made me the most amazing banner for my oneshot Getting By and helped me out MAJORLY with this chapter. She's fantabulous. She even listened to me rant about my lost muse and how much I suck.LOL The new banner is in my bio, so go look at it. And also, AniMesXVIII drew a couple of pictures on deviantART for this story, which are awesome. The link's in my bio, and if you have an account, please comment! Well darlings, I'm sorry to say that we are nearing the end of this strange little tale. The last chapter is next, while I'm absolutely heartbroken about it because I LOVE hearing from you all, I think it's time. So, please review and let me know what you think, and be on the lookout for the final chapter. Hugs and kisses!

Bloody Pumpkinhead - Haha, The fact that I could reduce you to dancing around the room is amazing. You totally made my day with that. The image of Sweeney blushing is so cute, I honestly don't know how Nellie doesn't just squeeze him to death.LOL I'm actually planning a story about their pasts at the moment, so be on the lookout for that later. And I'm sure whatever you want to post is great, you should definitely go for it. After you've translated them into English, you're welcome to send them to me, and I'll be happy to tell you what I think. But yes, you should post them, I'm a fan of Sweeney oneshots, for sure. Thanks for reviewing dear!

Everto Tonsor - LOL, Yeah, Sweeney definitely beat Kurtis at snowboarding. I think he had jealousy fueling him on:D Thanks for the book recommendation, I'll have to check it out. Thank you for reviewing!

Felicia Loves Passing Strange - LOL, I officially love your name. I'm glad you like the story, and I hope this chapter met all of your qualifications:D Thanks for the review!


	22. Epilogue

Passing Strange

_All endings are also beginnings, we just don't know it at the time._

_2009_

The flu. That is his first thought when Eleanor spends the morning and the afternoon on the bathroom floor, throwing up into the toilet bowl. She feels better by the evening, and they pass it off as some sort of twenty-four hour bug until the next morning, when he is startled awake by her jumping from bed to run into the bathroom and empty the contents of her stomach. He takes her to the ER despite her protests, more worried than he lets on as they wait for someone to call the name 'Lovett' and see to them.

She is sitting on his lap, her weary head on his shoulder, when a nurse finally calls her back, and Sweeney waits for nearly an hour before she comes out again. He jumps to his feet when he sees the tears in her eyes, wondering what on earth could possibly be ailing an immortal.

"What is it?" He asks, grasping her arm tightly and pulling her to him. "What's wrong?"

She beams up at him through her tears. "Nothin'," she breathes. "There's nothin' wrong. I just 'ave to quit smokin' is all." She gives a troubled pause. "I'll 'ave quite a time of it after fifty years of blackenin' my lungs."

He raises his eyebrows. "Smoking? _Smoking _is making you sick?"

Eleanor laughs, sounding almost giddy. "No, but it'll make the baby sick if I don't stop. I'm pregnant, love."

His eyes widen, and he glances furtively around the full waiting room. Leaning closer so no one will overhear, he says softly, "Eleanor, my love, you can't _get _pregnant, remember?"

She shakes her head and takes him by the hand, pulling him outside to the parking lot. His head is swimming, and he's glad they're at a hospital just in case his quick, shallow breaths turn into a full-on panic attack. They stand on the sidewalk, and Eleanor looks up at him, barely able to suppress her excited smile. "I know I couldn't get pregnant before but ultrasounds don't lie." She pauses, looking hopeful. "Maybe it's over."

"What's over?" He manages to croak out, absently wondering how hard he will hit the cement when he finally passes out.

Eleanor smiles, her hand unconsciously moving to cover her abdomen. "Our punishment."

_2010_

Blenders? She has six of them. Toasters? She has three. Wine glasses? Four sets.

It is two weeks before the wedding, and gifts are pouring in from all over the place, starting with Eleanor's colleagues and friends at the hospital, and ending with the acquaintances Sweeney has managed to make at NYU. Standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by newly arrived packages, Eleanor looks at Carol in dismay. She is sitting on the floor, amidst the sea of gifts, lap covered in stamps and post-it notes.

"Well," Eleanor sighs. "Add four more thank you notes to the list."

Carol makes a face, pulling her pencil from behind her ear, ready to jot down names. "I didn't get this many gifts for my wedding. Do people like you more than me? I'm delightful, damn it!" She glares accusingly at Nellie. "It's that son of yours, isn't it? You bring in a few pictures to work, and suddenly you're the favorite."

Ignoring her, Nellie ticks off the newly arrived gifts using her fingers. "Towels from the Johnson's. Another blender from the Nelson's. A coffee machine from Cynthia. And a set of knives from Mr. Calvin."

Carol frowns. "Aren't knives as a wedding gift bad luck?"

Looking frazzled, Eleanor sinks down onto the sofa and runs a hand through her hair. She doesn't have much time to sit down anymore, not with a new infant to look after. At the moment, the baby is sleeping, and she takes this rare opportunity to breathe and enjoy the quiet. "You believe that silly superstition?"

"Oh totally," Carol nods. "It's bad karma."

Eleanor giggles. "That's ridiculous, love."

Carol gives her a look. "Oh yeah, _that's _crazy, but two people tying the knot after two hundred years of dancing around each other is just commonplace."

"Oh for 'eaven's sake," Eleanor sighs noisily. "Just send 'im a dollar in the thank you card. That'll make it a purchase and cancel out any bad karma. 'Appy?"

"Intensely." Grinning, Carol makes a note on another post-it. "What would you do without me?"

"Shrivel up and die," Eleanor responds instantly, stealing her friend's bag of sunflower seeds from the coffee table.

Two days before the wedding, at a sports bar a block away from the church where the vows will be said, Sweeney Todd sits with Tom, their eyes glued on the television set above their heads.

"C'mon," Tom mutters under his breath. "Pass him, pass him, pass hi - Oh come _on_!" He takes up his shot glass and looks at Sweeney. "Can you believe that guy? What an idiot!" Sweeney is staring at the television, but he isn't blinking and something about his blank stare tells Tom that he isn't even seeing the motorcycle race. "Hey, earth to the Todd-man!"

Sweeney's eyes dart from the television screen to Tom's face, looking stranded between startled and annoyed.

Tom laughs. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

Sweeney bristles, looking down at his shot glass, finger tracing the rim slowly. "No," he snaps, but his voice sounds unsure.

Gesturing to the other man's glass, Tom raises his own to his lips, and they down the tequila together, slamming their glasses onto the bar top at the same time. "C'mon, man. You've known Ellie for years. She's great, what is there to be nervous about?"

Sweeney doesn't answer for a few moments, but then he says through gritted teeth, "I don't like _change_." He grimaces, as if it had been truly painful to divulge such a thing to the man sitting next to him.

"Well you're already living together, you have a kid together," Tom nods to the bartender, and he pours them another round. "It'll be exactly the same except you'll have a ring on your finger, and she'll start signing her name Dr. Todd." He laughs, and they down their shots again together.

Wincing as the alcohol burns his throat, Sweeney's lips curl into a wistful smile, thinking of Eleanor and the small sums of pleasure she'll get from signing her checks and prescriptions as Dr. Todd. It is one change he doesn't think he'll mind making.

_2011_

"Malcolm, come to mummy."

Sweeney Todd can only watch as his wife holds out her hands to their son, on her knees in the middle of the living room floor. Malcolm merely stares at her, his little mouth working silently as he tries to form words he can barely speak. The woman is intent on the little boy making the journey from his father's lap to her arms, a whole five feet away.

"Come to mummy, darlin'," she coos, and Malcolm opens his mouth to giggle at her.

He looks up at Sweeney, as if for guidance, and Sweeney sets his son on the floor, keeping a gentle grip on the collar of his t-shirt in case he should fall. Slowly, he puts one chubby leg in front of the other, and Eleanor's eyes light up in delight as he precariously takes two steps toward her, swaying dangerously. Sweeney and the basset hound at his feet watch with rapt attention as the baby stumbles, only to be caught up in his mother's waiting arms.

"There's my smart lit'le man," she laughs, pressing multiple playful kisses to his soft ivory cheeks. "Almost did it that time, 'e did."

Picking up his newspaper from the coffee table, Sweeney sits back and flips it open. "He'll do it when he's ready. Don't push him, woman."

Eleanor sighs. "I know, I know. But I just can't wait to 'ear the patter of his 'lit'le feet!" She smooths Malcolm's dark brown curls, plants one last kiss on his cheek, and settles him on Sweeney's lap again before disappearing from the room, Louie following at her heels. "I'll start on dinner, keep an eye on 'im!"

His view of the Sports section obstructed by the head of his child, Sweeney frowns deeply. Malcolm turns in his arms, reaching out one chubby hand with a toothless grin. Knowing what is coming, Sweeney tries to pick him up in time to prevent it, but the baby is too fast and grabs a hold of a handful of Sweeney's hair and yanks with a force that is surprising for such a small being.

Swearing vehemently, despite his wife's constant protests that their son will pick up on his language, Sweeney takes Malcolm's wrist and tugs gently. Malcolm doesn't release his grip. "Eleanor! He's doing it again!"

He hears a muffled snort from the kitchen and scowls. Eleanor bustles into the living room, looking as if she is stifling laughter, and bends down to take Malcolm. "Let go, love." She takes the baby's fist and slowly begins undoing the boy's grip, finger by finger. "Malcolm, let go of daddy's 'air. S'not nice!" Finally prying him away, Eleanor sighs tiredly, settling him on her hip as Sweeney stands up to snatch away the fistful of hair Malcolm has gotten away with.

He stops abruptly in the middle of trying to pry several loose strands of hair from Malcolm's clenched fist, looking dazed. Eleanor frowns, gazing up at him. "What's the matter, dearie? You don't look so good."

He stares at Malcolm's fist, mouth slightly agape. "There's...there's a gray..." He swallows and shakes his head, unable to finish.

Eleanor smiles fondly and leans up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "My baby's first gray 'air. I should start keepin' a book."

_2013_

"April?"

"Too seasonal."

"Daphne?"

"Too...Scooby Doo."

"Jade?"

"Pretty, but it 'as a bad history."

Carol sighs in exasperation. "It has a bad history? Are you kidding me, Ellie?"

Eleanor dips her spoon into her carton of ice cream. "Jade used to mean 'prostitute' in the nineteenth century, y'know."

"Seriously?" Carol brings her book of baby names closer to her face, squinting at it. "Wow. There's something those baby name websites don't tell you."

Nodding, Eleanor licks her spoon clean of chocolate ice cream and digs out another spoonful, offering it to Malcolm, who sits between them on the porch swing. He opens his mouth wide, and Eleanor laughs, sliding the spoon between his lips. Smoothing a hand over her round belly, she sighs. "I don't want some complicated name. Just somethin' simple and pretty. Somethin' classic."

Carol tilts her head to the side in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin. "Simple and classic...what about Lucy?"

Eleanor nearly chokes on her ice cream. She'd forgotten that while Carol knows their history, she doesn't know specific names. "Over my dead body."

"Wow," Carol raises her eyebrows. "Hostile, much?" She tosses the book to the ground, letting it hit the wooden porch before turning to Malcolm and gathering him up into her arms. "I give up. Your mommy is impossible." She grins at him, hugging the two year old to her chest and ruffling his dark curls.

Shoving another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, Eleanor watches Tom and Sweeney carry a heavy looking sofa across the lawn and up the porch steps, grunting the whole way. "I'm eight months pregnant, love. I'm allowed to be impossible." Malcolm squirms from Carol's lap to totter after his father, calling out 'daddy' as he wanders into the house after him. She looks to Carol. "Where're Charlie and Damian today?"

"With my mother," Carol smiles, stretching out languidly. "It's been so peaceful without the twin terrors."

She snorts at this. "Should 'ave brought them, might've kept Malcolm occupied. 'E's bloody bored out of 'is mind." From inside the house, she hears a childish squeal, followed by giggling and the words, 'Daddy, put me down!'

Seconds later, Sweeney emerges from inside, carrying a grinning Malcolm on his shoulders. Eleanor holds out her arms to the little boy as her husband draws nearer. "C'mere, darlin'."

When Malcolm is close enough, Carol takes him from Sweeney and settles him in her lap again; Eleanor's lap is practically nonexistent at the moment, her protruding belly taking up most of the space. "I can't believe you're leaving the city," Carol whines, watching as Tom and Sweeney pull a plush leather chair from the moving van. "Who am I going to bother when I'm bored? I can't drive all the way out here!"

Nellie laughs. "Love, we're twenty minutes away if you take the subway. And I'll still be at the hospital every day."

"It's not the same," the blonde pouts. "You used to be five minutes away if I took a cab. Ten if I ran."

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor looks at Malcolm, playing with Carol's blonde hair idly. He looks just like his father, the same dark eyes and dark hair, only with her curls. His cheeks are rosy and his big brown eyes are bright. Her entire life revolves around this little boy now. "We needed to get out of the city," she explains for the millionth time. "Don't want to raise children in Manhattan and this place is perfect."

The house is everything she'd ever wanted in a home. It's an respectable neighborhood, swimming with other children for Malcolm to play with. It's an old house, large, with a wrap around porch that creaks charmingly. There is a little garden in the backyard, and she is hoping she'll be able to putter around back there, plant tomatoes, a few exotic flowers. Lavender is growing wild on the side of the house, and if she opens their bedroom window on the second floor, the scent of it will come wafting up to greet them as they lie in bed on warm summer nights. It is the kind of place that Eleanor has always wanted to raise children, and she couldn't be happier with their purchase.

Carol makes a face. "But isn't this weird for you? A family? Settling in permanently somewhere?"

Eleanor shrugs. "A little, but in a good way."

"But what about all the traveling? The never aging?" Carol asks, her voice hushed. "Don't you miss being immortal?"

"Nope." Eleanor smiles at Malcolm when he looks up at her with a boyish grin. "Not at all."

_2016_

Central Park Zoo. Sweeney Todd can think of a million other places he'd rather be, but he supposes he should just be grateful it isn't Disneyland. Holding five year old Malcolm by the hand as the little boy drags him excitedly towards the lion exhibit, Sweeney glares at his wife for her 'brilliant' idea, but she only grins at him from behind her oversized sunglasses and continues pushing Lily's stroller merrily.

"Look daddy!" Malcolm jumps up and down, pointing through the glass at the enormous lion lounging very close to them. It yawns and almost seems to stretch as it looks out at them lazily, obviously in no mood to stalk about and entertain them. Malcolm frowns, suddenly looking even more like his father. "He doesn't act like a lion."

Sweeney places a hand on his son's shoulder, joining him in looking in on the lion. It has begun licking its paws in a leisurely manner, ignoring them now. "No, he doesn't."

Malcolm squints up at him through a mop of curly hair. "Is he sick?"

"He's just tired," Sweeney reassures him. "Maybe he's old. Old and tired, and sick of the zoo. I can relate."

"Don't be cheeky," his wife says from behind him, and the sound of her voice makes him jump. "I don't like it when you're cheeky, doesn't suit you at all." Eleanor has finally caught up with them, and the stroller comes to a stop next to Sweeney. Lily is becoming fussy in her restraints, and Eleanor leans down to pull her out of the stroller, but stops suddenly, wincing and bringing a hand to her back. Sweeney frowns, moving to step closer to her. She smiles at him reassuringly. "Back's not what it used to be, love. Comes with gettin' old, I s'ppose."

He places his hand on the small of her back as she leans briefly into him, sighing. "I'll give you a backrub when we get home if we can get the hell out of here now," he says, willing to negotiate.

She laughs into his chest. "Malcolm 'as been lookin' forward to seein' the lions all week, we can't leave."

"He's looking at them right now," Sweeney reasons quietly.

Lily is practically wailing now, and Eleanor moves from Sweeney to pick up the redheaded baby, cooing softly to her. Settling the fussy child on her hip, she turns to look at Sweeney. "Make it ten more minutes and a backrub, and you've got yourself a deal."

Sweeney smirks triumphantly. "We have an accord, Mrs. Todd."

_2020 _

There are children everywhere. More specifically, there are _little girls _everywhere. It is Lily's seventh birthday party, and similarly aged girls are running around the house in puffy princess dresses and tiaras, giggling and asking Sweeney for piggy-back rides. He has directed each and every one of them to Tom and his Pin The Tail On The Donkey game in the living room.

Louie seems to be enjoying all the company, barking and jumping and following the children inside and out, tail wagging enthusiastically. Sweeney cannot say he particularly enjoys his home being invaded by gaggles of little girls and their baby dolls, and it is safe to say the only children he likes are his own. Forty-seven is far too old to be doing this. Actually, more like two hundred seventy-three, if he is going to be technical about it.

He has been put in charge of the pinata, thanks to his wife, who is hiding out in the kitchen with Carol under the pretense of getting the food ready. He is sure she is sitting at the kitchen counter, giggling to herself at his misfortune. In the backyard, standing tall in the midst of swarms of seven year olds in brightly colored princess gowns, Sweeney Todd holds out the stick to his daughter and takes two giant steps back, fearing for his safety.

Lily grins up at him, her cheeks flushed just like her mother's tend to do in excitement, her fair red mane falling down her back and her tiara askew on top of her head. She grips the stick in her hand, pulls the blindfold over her eyes, and with the help of several of her little friends, spins around three times. Swaying just slightly in her bare feet, the petite little girl bites her lip, rears back, and swings with all her might.

She smacks the pinata right in the head, and it lops off, falling to the ground and causing hundreds of candies to rain down upon her. The other girls jump up and down, cheering, and Lily smiles in a self satisfied sort of way, pulling the blindfold from her eyes to survey her work. Sweeney is oddly proud of her.

Hours later, after the party is over, Malcolm is in bed with his handheld video game when he really should be sleeping, and Lily has fallen asleep on the sofa on top of a pile of candy she is hoarding for herself. On the porch swing, Mr. and Mrs. Todd are sharing a bottle of wine.

Leaning her head on Sweeney's shoulder, fingers curled around her wine glass, Eleanor sighs wearily. "They're growin' up on us. Gettin' far too old for my likin'."

Sweeney's lips brush against the top of her head and she closes her eyes. "So are we, my love."

She snorts gently at this. "S'what we wanted, isn't it?"

"I'm beginning to think this growing old business is vastly overrated," he comments idly, his fingers burying themselves in wild red hair.

Eleanor smiles, leaning up to brush her lips against his. "Change your mind, dearie?" She isn't sure, but she thinks she hears him mutter '_never_' into her neck.

_2025_

The mutt has died.

Just when he thought he couldn't loathe the dog enough, it goes and dies on them. Louie had lived for fifteen years, three years longer than the average lifespan of a Basset Hound, and an unusually long time considering Eleanor's indulgence in his love for leftovers. It had still come as a shock to them all. Eleanor has been positively inconsolable for days, and no amount of him promising to buy her a new puppy will change that. Three days after Louie had been buried in the backyard, she was still sniffling and he'd snapped in frustration that it was 'just a dog'. She had refused to speak to him for two days.

He knows now that it is something she will have to get over on her own, and in her own time, but he is having trouble leaving her be when her bottom lip quivers every time she passes the door frame in the hallway that the dog had chewed up.

The children had been upset for several days, considering that the dog has always been there with them throughout their childhood. Louie stoically endured Lily dressing him up and making him attend her tea parties in the backyard, and the dog had always followed Malcolm around the neighborhood, chasing after the boy and his skateboard. But Sweeney's children are resilient, and they're slowly starting to recover, tentatively speaking of getting another dog. Lily had drawn her mother a Get Well card with a picture of the hound on the front. Eleanor had cried for an hour over it.

While Sweeney had never been close to the dog, he thinks part of him has gone into shock at the sudden lack of an adversary. He is reluctantly willing to admit that he misses the way the mutt would bite at his pant leg when he would come home from class, but he downright refuses to show his relief when Eleanor comes home from work three months later cradling a puppy in her arms, aptly named Louie II.

_2030_

" 'Ow long 'ave you known and not said anythin'?"

"I've known for about twenty years, just never mentioned it," he shrugs. "I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."

Eleanor gapes at him, mouth opening and closing several times before she can speak. "Did Carol tell you? That little wench, she said she wouldn't - "

Tom laughs, peering into his coffee cup. "Technically, Carol didn't tell me. She tends to talk in her sleep, and then I just started paying closer attention to you and Sweeney. It started making sense after a while, and I put all the bizarre pieces together. I always thought you were a little strange, I just didn't know how much."

She glares at him, but stays silent, sipping from her own mug.

They'd been having a friendly afternoon chat on the front porch steps while everyone else had been busy with other things. Sweeney is helping Malcolm with his car in the garage, and Carol and Tom's daughter Ella is trying to coax Lily from her room after her latest breakup with boyfriend number two. The conversation has veered startlingly off-track since they'd broached the upcoming Halloween. Tom had asked if Sweeney would mind lending him one of his old suits for a costume party he had to attend, because the authenticity of Sweeney's nineteenth century apparel would surely win him the best costume prize.

Eyes drifting up into the large oak trees lining the street, Eleanor watches as the wind shifts and brittle leaves of brown and red drift lazily to the ground. " 'Ow did you come to suspect me, anyway?"

Tom snorts. "You're the only person I know who still refers to a mirror as a looking glass."

"Very funny" Nellie shoves him playfully. "Bloody smart ass."

_2040_

Lily's first child is a boy, and when she announces that his name will be Tobias, or Toby for short, Eleanor's eyes fill up with tears. She and Sweeney never told their children about their past, but Lily has unknowingly given Nellie a precious reminder.

In the hospital room, as Lily sleeps, Eleanor sits alone with the child by her daughter's bedside. Lily's husband has gone home to change, Malcolm and his wife have gone home to their children, and Sweeney is in the cafeteria with Ella, both of them on a mission to find decent food.

Sitting cross-legged in rather uncomfortable chair, Eleanor holds the newly christened Toby to her chest, looking down at him admiringly. He has Lily's pale red hair, just as Lily had gotten it from her. Running one slender finger down the baby's tiny little nose, Eleanor smiles. His skin is so soft, just as she remembers her own babies' being, and a wave of nostalgia washes over her.

Someone clears their throat softly, and she looks up, startled, to find Sweeney and Ella standing in the doorway, sharing a box of Milk Duds. He still moves as silently as a cat. "Didn't find anythin' to eat, love?" She asks, turning her eyes back to the sleeping babe.

He shakes his head, stepping further into the room while Ella lingers in the doorway, searching her purse for mints or tic tacs, or anything else edible. "This bloody hospital is worthless. How can you work in these conditions?"

She smirks, reaching out her free hand to take his and draw him closer. "I work 'ere to save lives, not eat their food." Eleanor beckons him nearer, and he bends down to her level. "But I 'ave it on good authority that Carol's locker is stuffed with three bags of chips and a package of jello."

Sweeney looks intrigued. "Care to share the combination, pet?"

"6730. Don't tell 'er I told you, she'll 'ave my 'ead," Eleanor smiles as he leans down to press a grateful kiss to her lips before hurrying off with Ella in search of better food for their growling stomachs.

Eleanor once again directs her full attention back to the newest addition to her growing family, marveling over his perfection. Trailing her hand down Toby's chin and over his chest, which rises and falls with his every tiny breath, Eleanor gently touches her fingertips to his own silken ones. Gazing down at her new grandchild, she is overcome with a protectiveness she hasn't felt since Lily brought her last boyfriend home.

Holding the child closer to her, she sings very softly, "Nothing's gonna harm you, darlin', not while I'm around."

It is the lullaby she sang to Toby so very long ago, the same lullaby she has used to soothe both of her children well into their teenage years, but this is the first time she has used it for her grandchildren, and Eleanor has a feeling this one is going to be very spoiled.

_2046_

Thirty-six years. It seems like such a very short amount of time to people who have been among the living for over three hundred years. Being married for thirty-six years hardly seems like a grand number worth celebrating, but they will anyway.

Reclining on Adirondack chairs in the middle of the expansive backyard, Sweeney and Eleanor stare up at the night sky, their joined hands resting between them. Technically, their anniversary isn't until tomorrow, but as Eleanor glances at her watch, she realizes there are only a couple of minutes until midnight anyway.

The stars are out in full form tonight, and Eleanor gazes up at them in wonder, knowing that no matter how long she lives, she will always be able to admire the vastness of the universe, and to ponder the meaning of her existence in it all. Sliding her gaze from the sky to her husband sitting next to her, Eleanor smiles softly. His eyes are closed, and from the way his breathing is evening out, he is very close to falling asleep. She squeezes his hand briefly, admiring his strong features in the light of the moon.

Time has done little to Sweeney Todd's countenance, though his hair is a little grayer. How very little they have aged doesn't scare her, because she can feel time slowly wearing them down. She feels older, whether she looks it or not. Time seems to be in no hurry to turn either of them into a wrinkled elderly couple, and Eleanor has to admit she is grateful for small mercies. Being seventy-three and not looking a day over forty-five has its advantages.

Time hasn't changed her feelings for the man sitting next to her, either. She still feels the same way about him as she did the day she first laid eyes on him, when he still went by the name Benjamin Barker. In fact, she is sure that she loves him much more than she did then, when she was a lovesick fool, head over heels for his gentle smile.

She is also fairly sure that he still loves her, if the way he kisses her is any indication. He doesn't say 'I love you' every day, like most couples are wont to do, because he feels it cheapens the sentiment. But he says it when it really matters, and to her, that is what counts. When Sweeney does say the words, he whispers them over and over in her ear, like a mantra, as though they bear repeating, as though he is making up for all the times he hasn't said them.

Yes, Eleanor is fairly confident that Sweeney Todd still loves her as much as the day he shouted it at her in the middle of an argument thirty-five years ago. She smiles at the thought and glances at her watch again. Midnight.

Turning to Sweeney, she sees that he has fallen asleep in his chair, and her grin widens. " 'appy anniversary, love."

_2058_

Thanksgiving Day at the Todd's is chaotic, to say the least. In the kitchen, Eleanor, her daughter, her daughter-in-law, and Carol, along with any grandchildren old enough and willing to help, cook the turkey, mash the potatoes, drizzle the chocolate and cut up the vegetables. It is at times like this that Eleanor truly misses the old tradition she had started with Sweeney of Chinese food and tequila.

In the living room, Sweeney, Tom, their sons and sons-in-law are lounging over furniture and their grandsons are sprawled across the floor, all of them staring intently at the television, watching the football game on the screen.

Upstairs, Nellie hears the thump of footsteps telling her that her granddaughters are playing with her clothes in hers and Sweeney's bedroom again, and she smiles softly to herself, pausing in the middle of stirring the gravy to listen intently, hoping to catch a word or two of their childish games. All she hears is a girlish shriek, followed by a fit of giggles, and more thuds as they run from the bedroom, down the hall, and up the attic stairs.

Lily sighs dramatically, dipping a finger into the whipped cream bowl. "I'm sorry mum, I told them to stay away from your closet."

Eleanor grins, looking at her daughter over her shoulder. "And I told 'em to go up there and use what they like. Leave the poor dears alone, Lily. Not many teenage girls even want to go through their grandmother's clothes!"

Smirking, Lily crosses the kitchen to stand at her mother's side. "Well most grandmothers aren't like you." She puts her arm across Nellie's shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. When the two of them stand next to each other, the resemblance is uncanny. "I just pray I've inherited your fantastic aging genes."

Laughing to herself, Eleanor turns, catching Carol's eye as she pats her daughter's cheek gently. "Let's 'ope not, love."

_2060_

When his wife pulls into the driveway with a little convertible in place of her Mercedes, his jaw drops and he steps out onto the porch to meet her in the middle of the front yard. She grins at him as she hops out of the car, a colorful silk scarf wrapped around her head and face framed with big black sunglasses.

"What do ya think?" She asks, gesturing to the bright yellow Corvette. "It's a vintage 2005."

Sweeney raises an eyebrow. "I can see that." He reaches her side and they stand looking at it for several minutes. It's beautiful car, in impeccable condition and Eleanor had obviously driven it home with the top down. Louie V is in the backseat, drooling on the leather interior. "Where's the Mercedes?"

Sliding her sunglasses from her face, Eleanor turns to look at him. "Carol's drivin' it back, but she stopped to pick up Toby first."

"And why is Toby coming here?" Sweeney asks, brow drawn together in his confusion. Eleanor laughs, apparently finding his cluelessness endearing. She leans up to kiss him before taking his hand and pulling him toward the car. "You bought this?"

She nods.

"What, are you having some sort of end-of-life crisis?" He asks snarkily, and she sticks her tongue out at him. Hardly mature for an eighty-seven year old woman, but it doesn't seem to matter to the redhead. Not that either of them look anywhere close to eighty-seven, which is what makes their neighbors whisper about them over garden fences and clustered around mailboxes at the end of driveways.

"S'not for me," she insists, waving him away with a slender hand. "It's for Toby's eighteenth birthday. Lily and Ian refuse to get 'im a car, and 'e needs one, so I took it upon myself to buy 'im one of those vintage Corvettes 'e's always talkin' about." She smiles brilliantly, obviously proud of herself.

"You'll spoil him," Sweeney insists grumpily, but his heart isn't in it. He has been telling her since the day Toby was born that she spoils him too much, but she never listens, and after eighteen years, he has given up.

"Pish-tosh. Don't be silly," she rolls her eyes, before flashing him a mischievous grin. "Wanna take it for a spin before Carol gets 'ere with Toby?"

The yellow Corvette, a 2005 vintage if Eleanor is to be believed, shines beautifully under the sun, and its leather interior seems to be beckoning Sweeney closer. He peers inside, takes in the pristine interior, ignores the basset hound lying down in the backseat and eyes the steering wheel warily. "I'm driving."

With a winning smile and a flourish, Eleanor tosses him the keys.

_2066_

Central Park is surprisingly unchanged. The trees still tower over everything else, shading everything in the summer and showering the ground with leaves in the fall, and if one were to wander deep enough into the park, it could almost be forgotten that it is situated in the middle of a bustling city that never sleeps.

Eleanor stands on Bow Bridge, which appears just the way it did all those years ago, when she fled here after an argument with Sweeney Todd. She can't remember exactly what the argument had been about, but she remembers that he had been worried enough to come after her. She leans into him now, smiling as his arm immediately wraps around her waist and he pulls her into him.

"I should write a memoir," she says suddenly, staring into the water below them.

He chuckles into her hair. "Pet, no one would believe your memoir. You'd have to categorize it as fiction so as not to scare the hell out of anyone."

Laughing into his shirt, Eleanor tilts her face up to his. "What a bloody great shame. All those stories, and no one to share 'em with."

"Oh, I'm no one now, I am?" He asks, sounding playfully wounded.

She rolls her eyes. "You don't count, you were there for 'alf of 'em."

"Well excuse me for always being around," he snips as a cool wind whips at her hair and she burrows herself further against him.

"Such a baby, you are," she complains, but she sounds distracted, leaning slightly over the railing and peering into the water.

Realizing what she is doing, it is Sweeney's turn to roll his eyes. Tugging her away from her reflection, he takes her chin in his hand and brings her lips up to his for a gentle kiss. "Eleanor, you're ninety-three years old, and people mistake you and your fifty-three year old daughter for sisters. You've no reason to fret."

She frowns, leaning up to kiss him again. "Since when do you know me so well?"

Smirking as his forehead touches hers, Sweeney shrugs. "I've had close to four hundred years to figure you out, Eleanor."

She squints at him. "But I'm still a lit'le mysterious, right?"

His laugh is genuine as his lips brush hers again. "Of course, my love."

_2074_

The cemetery is a veritable ocean of green on this bright summer day. Most people have better things to do on a day like this than walk into a graveyard with a bouquet of flowers, but she isn't most people. She walks straight to one particular gravestone, which is fairly new, the granite still shiny and the earth beneath it still soft.

The old woman kneels on the ground and reaches out with an aged, trembling hand to trace the letters carved into the marble. Pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve, Carol sniffles, hating the way she still tears up at the thought of her best friend, even a year after the death of Eleanor and her husband. They'd died together in their sleep, which Carol had thought to be terribly Notebook-esque of them, but who is she to judge?

It had been fitting anyway, and she has a feeling some otherworldly power had planned it that way all along. Perhaps they had spent too long in each others company to survive any other way. At any rate, they are both gone, and Carol is lacking in someone to bicker with. Her husband has had to put up with most of her antics, now that Eleanor is no longer around to deal with them. She thinks Tom secretly resents the redhead for leaving him alone with her.

Carol kisses her fingertips and presses them to the granite before standing and brushing off her pants. "See you soon, my dears," she whispers.

At eighty-seven, it is hardly a lie. She finds it a miracle that she is still able to drive herself, but her doctor says all these years of eating sunflower seeds have kept her eyes sharp. She has never mentioned to him that she never remembers eating the sunflower seeds, only wakes up with the taste of them in her mouth and finds handfuls of them in her pockets. She has learned not to question this aspect of her life, and accept it for whatever it is.

Deciding it is time to go back to the car and home to her family, Carol takes one last look at the grave, setting her bouquet of daisies on the ground beside it. Reading the epitaph again, a wan smile graces her lips. Beneath the name '_Todd_', etched for eternity in stone, are the words, '_It's About Bloody Time_'.

_--_

_To die will be an awfully big adventure_

_-__**Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie**_

* * *

A/N-I'm so mad that some of you guessed how I was going to have them find out they're mortal again! You ruined the surprise.LOL It's over! Can you believe it? It was a whole summer in the making, and I enjoyed writing it immensely. I just want to thank you all for reading this story, because I know it was pretty different, and I appreciate you all giving it a chance. Thank you to all of my reviewers, your comments meant the world to me and I looked forward to all of those encouraging words in my inbox whenever I posted. Oh, the quote in the beginning is from The Five People You Meet In Heaven. And the 2005 Corvette? So awesome. Go look it up. To all of my anonymous reviewers who review this chapter, please leave your email address so I can reply to you! Much love to you all, and keep a lookout for any new Sweeney stories I may post:D Kisses!

Felicia Loves Passing Strange - Aw, I'm sorry love, I didn't mean to make you cry! But I'm secretly glad I did;) Yes, I turned a potentially threatening line into something fluffy, doncha just lovett? I definitely remembered everything you mentioned, and I managed to find a spot for them to accommodate your demands.LOL Yeah, you're the only one who mentioned the line I borrowed from The Mummy Returns. I put in a few movie lines and or a something from a book occasionally, sometimes people notice and sometimes they don't:D

Zara - Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the story, I appreciate your wonderful feedback:D

Ms Jess - I'm glad you think they're in character, it's pretty difficult to do when they're centuries old.Haha Thanks so much for the review!

Thyme - I thought about ending it with the last chapter, but the epilogue idea just wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it:) Also, I love that you caught the whole fireside thing, it was just a little throwback to the old times, I didn't expect anyone to notice it, so kudos.Haha Thanks for the review!

Waynhim Dukkha - I know! I was torn too. Part of me wanted them to live forever and be young and make out all the time.LOL But alas, we all must grow up. Yeah, Kurtis got his butt kicked. I'm sure his expression was priceless.Haha I love writing Todd with his class, so we'll see about the sidestory. I guess it just depends on my muse:D Thanks so much for reviewing!


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